P. Henry-Seven? Why, there were but four, even now. Fal-In buckram? Poins-Ay, four in buckram suits. Fal.-Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. anon. Fal.-Dost thou hear me, Hal? P. Henry-Ay, and mark thee, too, Jack. Fal.-Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine men in buckram, that I told thee of P. Henry-So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken, began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. P. Henry-O, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Fal.-But three kuaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. P. Henry-These lies are like the father of them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, thou knotty-pated fool; thou greasy tallow-keech Fal.-What! Art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth? P. Henry-Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason; What sayst thou to this? Poins-Come, your reason, Jack; your reason. Fal.-What, upon compulsion? No, were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason on compulsion. P. Henry-I'll no longer be guilty of this sin: this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh Fal.-Away! you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you stock-fish-O for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you P. Henry—Well, breathe a while, and then to 't again; and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. Poins-Mark, Jack. P. Henry-We two, saw you four, set on four; you bound them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. Then did we two, set on you four, and with a word out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it to you, here in the house: and, Falstaff, you carried yourself away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard a calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight. What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Poins-Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now? Fal.-Why, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: was it for me to kill the heirapparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince; instinct is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and thee, during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold; all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore? P. Henry Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. Fal.-Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. SHAKESPEARE PARTHENIA. The father of the beautiful Greek maiden, PARTHENIA, was taken prisoner by the barbarous ALEMANNI. She leaves her home and goes to the mountains to accomplish his rescue; she succeeds in persuading the barbarian chief, INGOMAR, to take her as hostage, and allow him to return home and work for her ransom. She promises that she will work for them, and never give way to woman's weakness. The following is a scene succeeding the departure of MYROM, the father of PARTHENIA. PARTHENIA stands with hands before her face, sobbing. INGOMAR comes forward. NGOMAR-Ha! do I see right? You weep! Is that the happy temper that you boast? Parthenia-Oh, I shall never see him more! Ing.-What! have we for a silly old man got now a foolish, timid, weeping girl? I have had enough of tears. Par.-Enough, indeed, since you but mock them. I will not-no! I'll weep no more! [She dries her eyes and retires to the background.] Ing.-That's good;-come, that looks well. She is a brave girl!-she rules herself, and, if she keep her word, we have made a good exchange. I'll weep no more!aha! I like the girl, and if-Ho! whither goest thou? [TO PARTHENIA, who is going off with two goblets.] Par.-Where should I go?-to yonder brook to cleanse the cups. Ing.-No! stay and talk to me. Par.-I have duties to perform. [Going.] Par.-I am no slave!-your hostage, but no slave. I go to cleanse the cups. [Exit.] Ing.-Ho! here's a self-willed thing-here's a spirit! (mimicking her). I will not, I am no slave! I have duties to perform! Take me for hostage! and she flung back her head, as though she brought with her a ton of gold. I'll weep no more!-aha! an impudent thing; she pleases me! I love to be opposed; I love my horse when he rears, my dogs when they snarl; the mountaintorrent, and the sea when it flings its foam up to the stars; such things as this fill me with life and joy. Tame indolence is living death!-the battle of the strong alone is life! PARTHENIA returns with the cups and a bunch of fieldflowers; she seats herself on a rock. INGOMAR approaches her. Ing.-Ah! she is here again. What art thou making there? Par.-I?-garlands. Ing.-Garlands?—(Aside)—It seems to me as I had seen her before in a dream! How is it?-Ah! my brother! he who died a child-yes, that is it-my little Folko. She has his dark brown hair, his sparkling eye: øven the voice seems known to me again. I'll not to sleep, I'll talk to her:-(To Parthenia)—These you call garlands, and wherefore do you weave them? Par.-For these cups. Ing.-How? Par.-Is it not with you a custom? With us, at home, we love to intertwine with flowers our cups and goblets. Ing.-What use is such a plaything? Par.-Use? they are beautiful; that is their use. The sight of them makes glad the eye; their scent refreshes, cheers. There, is not that beautiful? [She fastens the half-finished garland round a cup, and presents it to him.] Ing.-Ay-by the bright sun! That dark green mixed with the gay flowers! Thou must teach our women to weave such garlands. up Par. That is soon done: thy wife herself shall soon weave wreaths as well as I. Ing.-(Laughing)-My wife! my wife! a woman, dost thou say? I thank the gods not I. This is my wife(points to his arms)—my spear, my sword, my shield; let him who will waste cattle, slaves, or gold, to buy a woman-not I-not I! Par.-To buy a woman! how? Did I hear aright? bargain for brides as you would slaves-buy them like cattle? Ing.-Well, I think a woman fit only for a slave. We follow our customs as you yours. How do you in your city there? Par.-Consult our hearts. Massilia's free-born daughters are not sold, but bound by choice with bands as light and sweet as these I hold. Love only buys us there. Ing.-Marry for love-that's strange! I cannot comprehend. I love my horse, my dogs, my brave companions, |