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Ion. If I am,

Hope nothing from my weakness; mortal arms,
And eyes unseen that sleep not, gird us round,

And we shall fall together. Be it so!

Adras. No; strike at once; my hour is come: in thee

I recognise the minister of Jove,

And, kneeling thus, submit me to his power.

Ion. Avert thy face!

Adras. No; let me meet thy gaze;

For breathing pity lights thy features up

Into more awful likeness of a form

Which once shone on me, and which now my sense
Shapes palpable-in habit of the grave;
Inviting me to the sad realm where shades

Of innocents, whom passionate regard
Linked with the guilty, are content to pace
With them the margin of the inky flood,

[Adrastus kneels.]

Mournful and calm;--'tis surely there!—she waves
Her pallid hand in circle o'er thy head,

As if to bless thee--and I bless thee too,

Death's gracious angel! Do not turn away.

Ion. Gods! to what office have ye doomed me !--Now!
[ION raises his arm to stab ADRASTUS.
is heard without, calling "Ion! Ion!"]

Adras. Be quick, or thou art lost!

Medon. Ion, forbear!

[MEDON rushes in.

Behold thy son, Adrastus!

The voice of MEDON

[ION drops the knife and stands stupified with horror] Adras. What strange words

Are these which call my senses from the death

They were composed to welcome?" Son !" 'tis false

I had but one-and the deep wave rolls o'er him!

Medon. That wave received, instead of the fair nurseling,

One of the slaves who bore him from thy sight
In wicked haste to slay; I'll give thee proofs.
Adras. Great Jove, I thank thee!--Proofs !
Are there not here the lineaments of her
Who made me happy once--the voice, now still,
That bade the long-sealed fount of love gush out,
While with a prince's constancy he came
To lay his noble life down; and the sure,
The dreadful proof, that he whose guileless brow
Is instinct with her spirit, stood above me,
Armed for the traitor's deed?-It is my child!
Ion. (kneeling.) Father!

Medon. The clang of arms!

Ion. (starting up.) They come ! they come! They who are leagued with me against thy life. Here let us fall!

Adras. I will confront them yet.

Within I have a weapon which has drunk

[A noise without.]

A traitor's blood ere now;-there will I wait for them.
No power less strong than death shall part us now!

XV. THE KING AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD.-Dodsley.

King [alone.] No, no, this can be no public road, that's certain: I am lost, quite fost indeed. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night shows me no respect: I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another man. What is a king? Is he not wiser than another man? Not without his councillors, I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told so, indeed, but what now can my power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent? When seated on his throne, and surrounded with nobles and flatterers, perhaps he may think so; but when lost in a wood, alas! what is he but a common man? His wisdom knows not which is north and which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at; and his greatness the beggar I would not bow to. And yet how oft are we puffed up with these false attributes! Well, in losing the monarch, I have found the man. [The report of a gun is heard.]

Hark! some villain sure is near! What were it best to do? Will my majesty protect me? No. Throw majesty aside then, and let manhood do it.

Miller [enters.] I believe I hear the rogue.

King. No rogue, I assure you.

Who's there?

Miller. Little better, friend, I believe. Who fired that gun?

King. Not I, indeed.

Miller. You lie, I believe.

King. Lie! lie! How strange it seems to me to be talked to in this style! [aside.] Upon my word I don't.

Miller. Come, come, sirrah, confess; you have shot one of the king's deer, have not you?

King. No, indeed; I owe the king more respect. I heard a gun go off, indeed, and was afraid some robbers might be near.

Miller. I'm not bound to believe this, friend. Pray, who are you? What's your name?

King. Name!

Miller. Name! yes, name. Why, you have a name, have not you? Where do you come from? What is your business here?

King. These are questions I have not been used to, honest man. Miller. May be so, honest man; but they are questions no honest man would be afraid to answer, I think: so, if you can give no better account of yourself, I shall make bold--to take you along with me, if you please.

..

King. With you! what authority have you to

Miller. The king's authority; if I must give you an account, sir, I am John Cockle, the Miller of Mansfield, one of his majesty's keepers in this forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected fellow pass this way that cannot give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you.

King. I must submit to my own authority-[aside.] Very well, sir, I am glad to hear the king has so good an officer; and since I find you have his authority, I will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the favour to hear it.

Miller. It's more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can say for yourself.

King. I have the honour to belong to the king as well as you, and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this forest; and the chace leading us to-day

a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my way.

Miller. This does not sound well. If you have been a-hunting, pray where is your horse?

King. I have tired my horse so much that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him.

Miller. If I thought I might believe this now-

King. I am not used to lie, honest man.

Miller. What! do you live at court, and not lie? that's a likely story indeed.

King. Be that as it will, I speak truth now, I assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it, or give me a night's lodging in your own house, here is something to pay you for your trouble, (giving a purse;) and if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire.

Miller. Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier; here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath! here, take it again, and take this along with it,-John Cockle is no courtier; he can do what he ought—without a bribe.

King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must own, and I should be glad, methinks, to be farther acquainted with thee.

Miller. Thee! and thou! pr'ythee don't thee and thou me; I believe I am as good a man as yourself, at least.

King. Sir, I beg your pardon.

Miller. Nay, I am not angry, friend: only I don't love to be too familiar with anybody, before I know whether or not he deserves it. King. You are in the right. But what am I to do?

Miller. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way through thick wood; but, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I will put you in the road, and direct you the best I can; or, if you will accept of such poor entertainment as a miller can give, you will be welcome to stay all night, and in the morning I shall go with you myself.

King. And cannot you go with me to-night?

Miller. I would not go with you to-night, if you were the king. King. Then I must go with you, I think.

COMIC EXTRACTS

FOR

RECITATION.

LAN ORATOR'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT.-Alexander Bell. THE Virgin Member takes his honoured place, while beams of modest wisdom light his face: multum in parvo in the man you see; he represents the people's majesty! Behold their choice! the pledged, midst many a cheer, to give free trade! free votes! free bread and beer! Blest times!- -He sits at last within the walls of famed St. Stephen's venerated halls! O, shades of Pitt and Fox! is he within the House of Commons? How his senses spin! Proud man! has he then caught the Speaker's eye? no, not just yet--but he will, by-andby. I wonder if there are reporters here? In truth there are, and hard at work, don't fear. O happy man! By the next post shall reach your loved constituents, the maiden speech! THE PRESS (great tell-tale!) will to all reveal, how you have--spoken for your Country's weal! In gaping wonder will the words be read, "The new M.P., Lord Noodle, rose and said."

This pillar of "ten-pounders" rises now, and towards the Speaker makes profoundest bow. Unused to so much honour, his weak knees bend with the weight of senate-dignities. He staggers-almost falls-stares--strokes his chin-clears out his throat, and ventures to begin. "Sir, I am sensible"-(some titter near him)—"I am, Sir, sensible"

Hear! hear! hear! Hear him!" Now bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, tea-pots one arm, and spouts out with the other. "I am, sir, sensible--I am, indeed--that, though I should-want -words-I must proceed; and, for the first time in my life I think-I think-that-no great orator-should-shrink:--and, therefore,-Mr. Speaker-I for one--will speak out freely. Sir—I've not yet done. Sir, in the name of those enlightened men who sent me here to speak for them why then, to do my duty-as I said before -to my constituency-I'LL SAY NO MORE."

II.-YORKSHIRE ANGLING.-Anonymous.

IT happened once that a young Yorkshire clown, but newly come to far-famed London town, was gaping round at many a wondrous sight, grinning at all he saw with vast delight; attended by his terrier Tyke, which was as sharp as sharp may be: and thus the master and the dog, d'ye see, were very much alike. After wandering far and wide, and seeing every street and square, the parks, the

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plays, the Queen, and the Lord Mayor, with all in which your "Cockneys" place their pride; and being quizzed by many a city spark for coat of country cut and red-haired pate, he came at length to noisy Billingsgate :--He saw the busy scene with n ute surprise, opening his ears and wondering eyes at the loud clamour, and the monstrous fish hereafter doomed to grace full many a dish. Close by him was a turbot on a stall, which, with stretched mouth, as if to pant for breath, seemed in the agonies of death: Said Lubin, "What name, zur, d'ye that fish call?" "A turbot," answered the sarcastic elf--“a flat, you see--so something like yourself." "D'ye think," said Lubin, "that he'll bite?" "Why," said the fishman with a roguish grin, "his mouth is open, put your finger in and then you'll know.""Why, zur," replied the wight, "I shouldn't like to try; but here's my Tyke shall put his tail there, an' you like." "Agreed," rejoined the man, and laughed delight.- Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit with all its might: the dog no sooner felt the bite, than off he ran, the dangling turbot holding tight: The astonished man began most furiously to bawl and rail; but, after numerous escapes and dodgings, Tyke safely got to Master Lubin's lodgings: thither the fishmonger in anger flew. Says Lubin :--"Lunnun tricks on me won't do: I'ze come from York to queer such flats as you, and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire too!" Then laughing at the man, who sneaked away, he had the fish for dinner that same day.

III. TOBY TOSSPOT.-Colman.

ALAS! what pity 'tis, that regularity, like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity. But there are swilling wights in London town, termed Jolly dogs--Choice spirits-alias, swine; who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on, dozing with headaches till the afternoon, lose half men's regular estate of sun, by borrowing too largely of the moon. One of this kidney--Toby Tosspot hight-was coming from "The Bedford," late at night: and being Bacchi plenus--full of wine—although he had a tolerable notion of aiming at progressive motion, 'twasn't direct; 'twas-serpentine. He worked with sinuosities along, like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork;--not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork. At length, with near four bottles in his pate, he saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate; when reading, "Please to ring the bell," and being civil beyond measure, Ring it!" says Toby--"very well; I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure." Toby, the kindest soul in all the town, gave it a jerk, that almost jerked it down. He waited full two minutes--no one came; he waited full two minutes more--and then, says Toby, "If he's deaf, I'm not to blame, I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

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But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright; who, quick as lightning, popping up his head, sat on his head's antipodes, in bed; pale as a parsnip-bolt upright. At length, he wisely to himself doth saycalming his fears_"Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away—" when peal the second rattled in his ears!Shove jumped into the middle of the floor; and, trembling at each breath of air that stirred, he groped down stairs, and opened the street-door; while Toby wasperforming peal the third!Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant, and

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