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FROM WILLIAM TELL.

Melctal.

Is 't the lake?

Emma.

But 'tis not that I fear.

What is 't you fear, my daughter?

No-no! The lake is rough,

Chafed with the storm of yesternight-'tis rough;

The lances in that bark?

What business have

What's that he does?

He steers her right upon a rock!—'Tis in

Despair, and there he'll die before my eyes!-
Ha! what!-What's that?-He springs upon the rock!
He flies!-he's free!-but they pursue him!

Enter TELL from an eminence.

Tell. Whene'er I choose, I have the speed of them. Nor dare they shoot: so oft as they prepare,

If I but bend my bow, the terror of

The deadly aim alone transfixes them,

That down they drop their weapons by their sides,
And stand at gaze, with lapsed power, as though
In every heart an arrow from my bow

Stood quivering. I knew that beetling cliff

Would cost them breath to climb. They top it now.
Ha! (Bends his bow) Have I brought you to a stand

again?

I'll keep you there, to give your master time

To breathe. Poor slaves! no game are you for
But could I draw the tyrant on that shrinks
Behind you!--There he is! I'll take the crag,
From which a leap, they dare not take, at once
Enables me to distance them, and there

Bring him to parley. (Ascends the crag.)

me;

Enter ARCHERS and SPEARMEN followed by Gesler.

Wherefore do you fly?

Ges.
Tell. Wherefore do you pursue me? Said you not
You'd give me liberty, if through the storm
I safely steer'd your prow? The waves did then
Lash over you; your pilot left the helm;

I took it, and they rear'd their heads no more,
Unless to bow them and give way to me
And let your pinnace on. You did repeat
Your promise, as you trembling lay along
The bottom of the bark, and scann'd the looks
Of your pale crew that shrunk, while fiercer wax'd
The fury of the wind, and to its height

*

The roaring of the angry thunder rose,

Through which I bore you as through savage foes,
My friends, that for my sake forbore. You twice
Promised me liberty. I only take

What you did promise.

Ges.

To wait my time.

Traitor, 'twas your place

Tell.
Believed that time would come. If I'm a prize
Worthy to take, why hang you thus behind
Your minions? Why not lead the chase yourself?
Lack you the manhood e'en to breast the sport
You love?

It would have been, had I

Ges.

At once.

Tell. Ha!

Transfix the slave with all your darts

[Takes aim again-they drop their weapons, which they had half raised.

Follow me! Keen huntsmen they

The game itself must urge.

Keep up the chase!

Ges. You keep too close together. Spread yourselves,

That some of you may hit him unawares.

His quiver full of ducats to the man

That brings him down. On, cowards-on, I say! [Exeunt.

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Julia.

LOVE SEEKS CONTRAST.

You're from the town;

How comes it, Sir, you seek a country wife?
Methinks 'twill tax his wit to answer that.

Clifford. In joining contrasts lieth love's delight. Complexion, stature, nature, mateth it,

Not with their kinds, but with their opposites.
Hence hands of snow in palms of russet lie;
The form of Hercules affects the sylph's;

And breasts that case the lion's fear-proof heart,
Find their loved lodge in arms where tremors dwell!
Haply for this, on Afric's swarthy neck,

Hath Europe's priceless pearl been seen to hang,
That makes the orient poor! So with degrees.
Rank passes by the circlet-graced brow,
Upon the forehead bare of notelessness
To print the nuptial kiss! As with degrees
So is 't with habits; therefore I, indeed
A gallant of the town, the town forsake,
To win a country wife.

From The Hunchback.

THE VAIN WIDOW.

Widow Green. Thou 'lt find out better when thy time

doth come.

Now would'st believe I love not Master Waller?

I never knew what love was, Lydia;

That is, as your romancers have it.

First,

I married for a fortune. Having that,

And being freed from him that brought it me,
I marry now, to please my vanity,

A man that is the fashion. O the delight

Of a sensation, and yourself the cause!

To note the stir of eyes, and ears, and tongues,
When they do usher Mistress Waller in,
Late Widow Green, her hand upon the arm
Of her young handsome husband!-How my
Will be in requisition-I do feel

My heart begin to flutter now-my blood
To mount into my cheek! My honey-moon

fan

Will be a month of triumphs!" Mistress Waller!”
That name, for which a score of damsels sigh,

And but the widow had the wit to win!

Why, it will be the talk of East and West,

And North and South!-The children loved the man,
And lost him so-I liked, but there I stopp'd;

For what is it to love, but mind and heart
And soul upon another to depend?
Depend upon another!-Nothing be

But what another wills!-Give up the rights

Of mine own brain and heart!-I thank my stars

I never came to that extremity!

From The Love Chase.

THE GROWTH OF DEVOTED LOVE.

Lorenzo. I dare be sworn your passion
Was such a thing, as by its neighbourhood
Made piety and virtue twice as rich

As e'er they were before. How grew it? Come,
Thou know'st thy heart-look calmly into it,

And see how innocent a thing it is

Which thou dost fear to show.-I wait your answer.
How grew your passion?

Mariana. As my stature grew,

Which rose without my noting it, until
They said I was a woman I kept watch
Beside what seem'd his death-bed.

An avalanche my father rescued him,
The sole survivor of a company

From beneath

A long time

Who wander'd through our mountains.
His life was doubtful, Signor, and he call'd

For help, whence help alone could come, which I,
Morning and night, invoked along with him.-
So first our souls did mingle!

Lorenzo. I perceive:-you mingled souls until you mingled hearts?

You loved at last.-Was 't not the sequel, maid?
Mariana. I loved, indeed! If I but nursed a flower
Which to the ground the rain and wind had beaten,
That flower of all our garden was my pride:-
What then was he to me, for whom I thought
To make a shroud, when, tending on him still
With hope, that, baffled still, did still keep up,
I saw at last the ruddy dawn of health
Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,
And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst
Into confirmed, broad, and glorious day!

Lorenzo. You loved, and he did love?
Mariana. To say he did,

Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouch'd,
What many an action testified-and yet—
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved-it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction-now a start-anon
A pacing to and fro-anon, a stillness,
As nought remain'd of life, save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion, were extinct!
Then all again was action! Disinclined
To converse, save he held it with himself;
Which oft he did, in moody vein discoursing,
And ever and anon invoking Honour,

As some high contest there were pending, 'twixt

Himself and him, wherein her aid he needed.

Lorenzo. This spoke impediment: or he was bound

By promise to another; or had friends

Whom it behoved him to consult, and doubted;

Or 'twixt you lay disparity too wide

For love itself to leap.

Mariana. I saw a struggle,

But knew not what it was.-I wonder'd still,
That what to me was all content, to him
Was all disturbance; but my turn did come.
At length he talk'd of leaving us; at length,
He fix'd the parting day-but kept it not-
O how my heart did bound!-Then first I knew
It had been sinking. Deeper still it sank
When next he fix'd to go; and sank it then
To bound no more! He went.

Lorenzo. To follow him,

You came to Mantua?

Mariana. What could I do?

Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood,

Lake, sky, and mountain, went along with him,—

Could I remain behind? My father found

My heart was not at home; he loved his child,
And ask'd me, one day, whither we should go?
I said, "To Mantua." I follow'd him

To Mantua! to breathe the air he breathed,
To walk upon the ground he walk'd upon,
To look upon the things he look'd upon,

To look, perchance, on him!-perchance to hear hiın,
To touch him! never to be known to him,
Till he was told, I lived and died his love.

From The Wife.

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