mare this morning refused to eat hay; and, truly. I am afraid Der. O, never fear; I will feed her well with oats on the road. Der. Never mind that. When I have a good job in view, I never stand for trifles. Scrape. But it is very slippery; and I am really afraid she I will fall and break your neck. Der. Give yourself no uneasiness about that. The mare is certainly sure-footed; and, besides, you were just now talking of galloping her to town. Scrape. Well, then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish to oblige you with all my heart, my saddle is torn quite in pieces, and I have just sent my bridle to be mended. Der. Luckily, I have both a bridle and a saddle hanging up at home. Scrape. Ah! that may be; but I am never fit my mare. sure your saddle will Der. Why, then I'll borrow neighbor Clodpole's. Scrape. Clodpole's! his will no more fit than yours will. Der. At the worst, then, I will go to my friend 'Squire Jones. He has half a score of them; and I am sure he will lend me one that will fit her. Scrape. You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you the beast should be at your service, with all my heart; but she has not been curried, I believe, for three weeks past. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one should see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her. Der. O a horse is soon curried, and my son Sam shall dispatch her at once. Scrape. Yes, very likely; but I this moment recollect the creature has no shoes on. Der. Well, is there not a blacksmith hard by? Scrape. What! that tinker of a Dobson? I would not trusi such a bungler to shoe a goat! No, no, none but uncle Town Thumper is capable of shoeing my mare. Der. As good luck would have it, then, I shall pass righ by his door. Scrape. (Calling off, L.) Timothy! Timothy! Enter TIMOTHY, L. Here's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the gray ma to ride to town to-day. You know the skin was rubbed off her back MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 245 last week a hand's breadth or more. (He gives TIM a wink.) However, I believe she is well enough by this time. (TIM shakes his head.) You know, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neighbors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this world. We must certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if she will possibly answer his purpose. Yes, yes; I see plainly, by Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he's disposed to oblige you. I would not have refused you the mare for the worth of her. If I had, I should have expected you would have refused your turn. None of my neighbors can accuse me of being backward in doing them a kindness. Come, Timothy, what do you say? me in Timothy. (L.) What do I say, father? Why, I say, sir, that I am no less ready than you are to do a neighborly kindness. But the mare is too used-up to make the journey to town to-day. About a hand's breadth, did you say, sir? Why, the skin is torn from the poor creature's back of the bigness of your broadbrimmed hat! And, besides, I have promised her, as soon as she is able to travel, to Ned Saunders, to carry a load of apples to the market. Scrape. (C.) Do you hear that, neighbor? I am very sorry matters turn out thus. I would not have disobliged you for the price of two such mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am really sorry, for your sake, that matters turn out thus. Der. (R.) And I as much for yours, neighbor Scrapewell; for, to tell you the truth, I received a letter this morning from old Griffin, who tells me, if I will be in town this day, he will give me the refusal of all that lot of timber which he is about cutting down upon the back of Cobblehill; and I intended you should have shared half of it, which would have been not less than fifty dollars in your pocket. But, as your go Scrape. Fifty dollars, did you say? Der. Ay, truly did I; but, as your mare is out of order, I'll and see if I can get old Roan, the blacksmith's horse. Scrape. Old Roan! My mare is at your service, neighbor. Here, Tim, tell Ned Saunders he can't have the mare. Neighbor Derby wants her; and I won't refuse so good a friend any thing he asks for. Der. But what are you to do for meal? Scrape. My wife can do without it this fortnight, if you want the mare so long. Der. But, then, your saddle is all in pieces. Scrape. I meant the old one. I have bought a new one since, and you shall have the first use of it. Der. And you would have me call at Thumper's, and get her shod? Scrape. No, no! I had forgotten to tell you that I let neighbor Dobson shoe her last week, by way of trial; and, to do him justice, I must own he shoes extremely well. Der. But, if the poor creature has lost so much skin from off her back Scrape. Poh, poh! That is just one of our Tim's large stories. I do assure you it was not at first bigger than my thumb-nail; and I am certain it has not grown any since. Der. At least, however, let her have something she will eat, since she refuses hay. Scrape. She did, indeed, refuse hay this morning; but the only reason was, that she was crammed full of oats. You have nothing to fear, neighbor; the mare is in perfect trim; and she will skim you over the ground like a bird. I wish you a good journey and a profitable job. Come, come along to the barn. This way, neighbor, this way! (He pulls DERBY off, L., and TIM follows.) BERQUIN. XXI. - HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. Enter GLENDOWER, R., PERCY, L. Glendower. Hail, good cousin Percy! hail, good cousin For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale, and, with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hotspur. And you— in the other place, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoken of. Glen. I can not blame him. At my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets; and at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Hot. Why, so it would have done At the same season if your mother's cat Had but kittened, though yourself had never been born. If you suppose as fearing you it shook. Glen. The heavens were all on fire; the earth did tremble. HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth Glen. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave Where is he living, - clipped in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, – And bring him out that is but woman's son Or hold me pace in deep experiments. Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. For I was trained up in the English court, Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it, with all my heart. I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew! Than one of those same meter ballad-mongers; I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turned, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; 'Tis like the forced gate of a shuffling nag! 247 Glen. (Crosses to L.) I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. (Crosses to R.) Why, so can I, or so can any man : But will they come, when you do call for them? Glen. Why, I can teach you to command the devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil (Exit, R.) Hot. No more, and welcome, Owen Glendower! (Laughing.) He can "call spirits from the vasty deep!" I'd like to see him do it. I tell you what, He held me last night at the least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names That were his lackeys: I cried "humph," and "well, go to," Worse than a smoky house; I had rather live (Exit, L.) SHAKSPEARE (altered). XXII. — DAVID AND GOLIAH. Enter GOLIAII, L. Goliah. Where is the mighty man of war, who dares What victor-king, what general drenched in blood, Has he to boast? Is his bright armory Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail, Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold, So much a wretch, so out of love with life, To dare the weight of this uplifted spear? Come, advance! Philistia's gods to Israel's! Sound, my herald, Sound for the battle straight! Enter DAVID, R. David. Behold thy foe! Gol. I see him not. |