I would not give them for it! Mark me, Duke!
I saw a new-made grave in Mantua,

And on the head-stone read my father's name!
To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come,
To seek the child that had deserted him, -
And died here, ere he found me.
Heaven can tell how far he wandered else!
Upon that grave I knelt an altered man,
And, rising thence, I fled from Mantua;·
But tyrant hunger drove me back again
To thee to thee! my body to relieve,

nor had returned,

At cost of my dear soul! I have done thy work,
Do mine! and sign me that confession straight.
I'm in thy power, and I'll have thee in mine!
There is the dial, and the sun shines on it, -
The shadow on the very point of twelve, -

The point of noon, the breadth of but a hair,

As can my eye discern

The steel is in thy heart!

- and, that unsigned,

I speak no more!

17 WILLIAM TELL ON SWITZERLAND. - Adaptation from J. S. Knowles

ONCE Switzerland was free! With what a pride

I used to walk these hills, look up to Heaven,
And bless God that it was so! It was free
From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free!
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun!

How happy was I in it, then! I loved
Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat

In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake,
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge
The wind came roaring, I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own.

You know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two a-breast to pass? O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there;- the thought that mine was free
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

18. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.-J. S. Knowies.

YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again!-O sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine, - whose smile
Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,

I'm with you once again!

I call to you

With all my voice! - I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

-Scaling yonder peak,

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss: his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath

And round about; absorbed, he heeded not

The death that threatened him. I could not shoot!

'T was liberty! I turned my bow aside,

And let him soar away!

19. THE FRACTIOUS MAN.-Original Translation from Brueys.

Monsieur Grichard. Blockhead! Would you keep me knocking two hours at the door?

Lolive. I was at work, Sir, in the garden. At the first sound of the knocker, I ran to answer it with such haste, as to fall down on

the way.

M. Gri. A great pity it was you didn't break your neck, booby' Why did n't you leave the door open ?

Lot. Why, Sir, you scolded me, yesterday, because I did sc When it is open, you storm about it. When it is shut, you storm about it just the same. I should like to know what to do.

M. Gri. What to do, sirrah? What to do, did you say?

Lol. O, come now, master, how would you have it? Do you wish me to leave the door open ?

M. Gri. No.

Lol. Do you wish me to keep it shut?

M. Gri. No!

Lol. But, Sir, it must be either open or —

M. Gri. What, rascal, what ! Do you presume to argue the point?

Lol. But does n't it hold to reason

M. Gri. Silence!

Lol. I say, Sir, that a door must be either open or shut. how will you have it?

Now,

M. Gri. I have told you, a thousand times, you scoundì l, — I have told you, I wished it-wished it—but confound your impudence, Sir! Is it for you to ask questions? Let me only lay hands on you, I'll show you how I wish it! Have you swept the stair

Lol. If you find a bit of dirt there big as a filbert, I'll forfeit my wages.

M. Gri.

You have n't watered the mule ?

Lol. Ask the neighbors, who saw me pass, if I have n't.

M. Gri. Have you given him his oats?

Lol. Yes, Sir. Ask William if I have n't. He saw me do it. M. Gri. But you have n't taken those bottles of Peruvian bark where I ordered you?

Lol. Pardon me, Sir; I took them, and brought back the empty bottles.

M. Gri. And my letters? Did you take them to the Post Office? Hah?

Lol. Did n't I, though? I took good care to do that! M. Gri. You villain, you ! A hundred times I have forbidden you to scrape your infernal violin. Now, I heard you, this morn

ing

Lol This morning? Don't you remember you smashed it all to piece for me, yesterday

2

M Gri. Humph! I'll lay a wager that those two cords of wood

Lol. The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, Sir; and since putting it in, I have helped William get a load of hay into the barn, I have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the beds and was digging another when you knocked.

M. Gri. O, I must get rid of this fellow! Was there ever such a provoking scamp? He will kill me with vexation. Away with you, Sir! Out of my sight!

20 BALTHAZAR AND THE QUACK.-John Tobin. Born, 1770; died, 1804

Balthazar. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man' Thou thing, that hast no shadow in the sun!

Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born

Of Death on Famine! thou anatomy

Of a starved pilchard!

Quack. I do confess my leanness. I am spare,
And therefore spare me! Man, you know, must live'
Balt. Yes; he must die, too.

Quack. For my patients' sake!

Balt. I'll send you to the major part of them.
The window, Sir, is open; — come, prepare.
Quack. Pray, consider, Sir,

I may hurt some one in the street.

Balt. Why, then,

I'll rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box.

'Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder:

For thou must sup with Pluto;-so, make ready!
Whilst I, with this good small-sword for a lancet,

Let thy starved spirit out, for blood thou hast none,

And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look

Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him.
Quack. Consider my poor wife!

Balt. Thy wife!

Quack. My wife, Sir.

Balt. Hast thou dared to think of matrimony, too?

No conscience, and take a wife!

Quack. I have a wife, and three angelic babes,

Who, by those looks, are well-nigh fatherless!

Balt. Well, well, your wife and children shall plead for you.

Come, come, the pills! where are the pills? produce them.
Quack. Here is the box.

Balt. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill

Had ten diseases in it, you should take them.

Quack. What, all?

Balt. Ay, all; and quickly, too; - come, Sir, begin

That's well; - another.

Quack. One's a dose !

Balt. Proceed, Sir.

Quack. What will become of me?

I do beseech you let me have some drink,

Some cooling liquid, Sir, to wash them down'

Balt. O, yes-produce the vial!

Quack. Mercy on me!

Balt. Come, Sir, your new invented patent draught
You've tried it on a dog; so there's no danger.
Quack. If you have any mercy think of me
Balt. Nay, no demur!

Quack. May I entreat to make my will first?

1

Balt. No; you have naught but physic to bequeath,
And that no one will take, though you should leave it.
Quack. Just to step home, and see my wife and children
Balt. No, Sir.

Quack. Let me go home and set my shop to rights,
And, like immortal Cæsar, die with decency!

Balt. Away, and thank thy lucky star I have not
Brayed thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee
For a large specimen of the lizard genus.

Quack. Would I were one! for they can feed on air.
Balt. Home, Sir, and be more honest!
Quack. If I am not,

I'll be more wise, at least! [Exit.]

[Exit.]

21. BRUTUS AND TITUS. - Nathaniel Lee.

There are some noble touches in the following dialogue, from Lee's tragedy of “Lucius Junius Brutus," although from the pen of a poet who mingled the extravagance of a madman with the inspirations of genius. Lee was born in Hertfordshire, England, in 1651, and died in 1692. He was for some time confined in a mad-house, being for nearly four years a raving

maniac.

Brutus. Well, Titus, speak; how is it with thee now?

I would attend a while this mighty motion,

Wait till the tempest were quite overblown,
That I might take thee in the calm of nature,
With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee:

So hushed a stillness, as if all the gods

Looked down and listened to what we were saying:
Speak, then, and tell me, O my best beloved,

My son, my Titus! is all well again?

Titus. So well, that saying how must make it nothing.

So well, that I could wish to die this moment,

For so my heart, with powerful throbs, persuades me
That were indeed to make you reparation;

That were, my Lord, to thank you home

to die!

And that, for Titus, too, would be most happy.

Brutus. How's that, my son? would death for thee be happy
Titus. Most certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'scape

All those affronts which I, in life, must look for;
All those reproaches which the eyes, the fingers,
And tongues of Rome, will daily cast upon me,
From whom, to a soul so sensible as mine,