Изображения страниц

And too impatiently stamped with your foot :
Yet I insisted, yet you answered not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which seemed too much enkindled; and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
Which sometime hath his hour with every


It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevailed on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
BRU. I am not well in health, and that is

POR. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRU. Why, so I do : — good Portia, go to bed. POR. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, – And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you, for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.

[blocks in formation]

Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

BRU. You are my true and honorable wife;
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

POR. If this were true, then should I know this secret.

I grant I am a woman; but, withal,

A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]


"But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free,

To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me."


"Why, that," she said, "is no reason. always free, I am told.


Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold ?"


"But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who was laid

In your lap to be pure; so I leave you the angels would make me afraid."


The angels

"O that," she said, "is no reason. keep out of the way; And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay."


66 Why, now,

"Love's a virtue for heroes!
snow on high hills,

At which he rose up in his anger,
you no longer are fair!

-as white as the

Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and And immortal as every great soul is that strughateful, I swear.' gles, endures, and fulfils.



"These "I love my Walter profoundly, you, Maude, though you faltered a week,

At which she laughed out in her scorn, men! O, these men overnice, Who are shocked if a color not virtuous is frankly For the sake of... what was it? an eyebrow? or, put on by a vice." less still, a mole on a cheek?

[merged small][ocr errors]



"I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er you might dream or avow

"What reason had you, and what right, — I appeal to your soul from my life, To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me than you have now.

pure, and a wife.

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

"If a man finds a woman too fair, he means sim-
ply adapted too much
To uses unlawful and fatal.
The praise ! — shall
I thank you for such?


"Too fair?-not unless you misuse us! and surely
if, once in a while,
You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer
too fair, but too vile.


pray your attention ! - I have a poor word in my head

I must utter, though womanly custom would set it down better unsaid.



"You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring.

You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter! I've broken the thing.

"You did me the honor, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and then

In the senses,
-a vice, I have heard, which is
common to beasts and some men.


"And since, when all 's said, you 're too noble to stoop to the frivolous cant

About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, betray, and supplant,

XXIV. "There! Look me full in the face! - in the face. Understand, if you can, That the eyes of such women as I am are clean as the palm of a man.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory, Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the soul,

Telling of trust and content the sweet story,
Lifting the shadows that over us roll.

King, king, crown me the king:

Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king!

Richer than miser with perishing treasure,

Served with a service no conquest could bring; Happy with fortune that words cannot measure, Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can sing. King, king, crown me the king:

Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king.


[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]



KING HENRY. O God! methinks, it were a happy life,

To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run;
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times,
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece :
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?

[blocks in formation]


DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride

Be called our choice, we 'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we 'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbor enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

Our portion is not large, indeed; But then how little do we need,

For nature's calls are few; In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our power;
For, if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be resigned when ills betide,
Patient when favors are denied,

And pleased with favors given, Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart, Whose fragrance smells to heaven.


« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »