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any protection shelter him from the treat

lain ;-
;-nor shall
ment he deserves.

I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, nor shall any thing but age restrain my re sentment; age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious, without punishment. But with regard, Sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure: the heat that offended them, is the ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country, which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, whoever may protect him in his villainy, and whoever may partake of his plunder.

LESSON CXXV.

Scene from "Pizarro."-SHERidan.

Sentinel. Who's there? answer quickly! who's there? Rolla. (Enters disguised as a monk.) A friar come to visit your prisoner. Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon?

Sen. He is.

Rol. I must speak with him.

Sen. You must not.

Rol. He is my friend.

Sen. Not if he were your brother,

Rol. What is to be his fate?

Sen. He dies at sun-rise.

Rol. Ha! then I am come in time.

Sen. Just to witness his death.

Rol, Soldier, I must speak with him,
Sen. Back! back! it is impossible.

Rol. I do entreat you, but for one moment.

Sen. You entreat in vain. My orders are most strict. Rol. Even now, I saw a messenger go hence

Sen. He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed to obey.

Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold: look on these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them; they are thine.-Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo. Sen. Away! Would'st thou corrupt me? me! an old Castilian! I know my duty better.

Rol. Soldier! hast thou a wife?

Sen. I have.

Rol. Hast thou children?

Sen. Four: honest, lovely boys.

Rol. Where didst thou leave them?

Sen. In my native village! even in the cot where myself was born.

Rol Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?

Sen. Do I love them! God knows my heart: I do.

Rol. Soldier! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in this strange land: what would be thy last request? Sen. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. O! but if that comrade were at thy prison gate, and should there be told-thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his wretched wife-what wouldst thou think of him, who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Sen. How!

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come but to receive for her, and for her babe, the last blessing of my friend.

Sen. Go in.

[Retires. Rol. O, holy Nature! thou dost never plead in vain.Alonzo! Alonzo! my friend! Ha! in gentle sleep! Alonzo-rise!

Al. How! is my hour elapsed? Well, (returning from the recess,) I am ready.

Rol. Alonzo! know me.

Al. What voice is that?

Rol. 'Tis Rolla's.

́Al. Rolla! my friend! (Embraces him.) Heavens!how could'st thou pass the guard? Did this habit→→→→

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle; it has gained me entrance to thy dungeon; now take it thou, and fly.

Al. And Rolla

Rol. Will remain here in thy place.

Al. And die for me? No; rather eternal tortures rack

me.

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and from my prison soon will thy arm deliver me; or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted plantain, standing alone amid the sandy desert. Nothing smiles or lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant hangs upon thy life. Go, go, Alonzo! Go, to save, not thyself, but Cora and thy child!

Al. Urge me not thus, my friend. I had prepared to die in peace.

Rol. To die in peace! devoting her you've sworn to live for, to madness, misery, and death! For be assured, the state I left her in, forbids all hope, but from thy quick

return.

Al. O Heavens !

Rol. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me well. I think thou hast not known that Rolla ever pledged his word, and shrunk from its fulfilment. If thou art proudly obstinate to deny thy friend the transport of preserving Cora's life in thee, no power that sways the will of man shall stir me hence; and thou'lt but have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the assured conviction, that Cora and thy child are lost for ever!

Al. O Rolla! you distract me!

Rol. A moment's further pause, and all is lost. The dawn approaches. Fear not for me. I will treat with Pizarro as for surrender and submission. I shall gain time, doubt not, while thou with a chosen band, passing the secret way, mayst at night return, release thy friend, and bear him back in triumph. Yes, hasten, dear Alonzo. Even now 1 hear the frantic Cora call thee. Haste!

haste! haste!

Al. Rolla, I fear your friendship drives me from honour, and from right.

Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend? Al. O, my preserver !

[Embracing him. Go;

Rol. I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek. I am rewarded. (Throws the friar's garment over ALONZO.) There, conceal thy face; and that they may not clink, hold fast thy chains. Now, God be with thee!

Al. At night we meet again. Then,—so aid me heaven! I return to save, or perish with thee !

[Exit. Rol. He has passed the outer porch-he is safe! He will soon embrace his wife and child! Alonzo flatters himself that we shall meet again! Yes, there! (lifting his hands to heaven) assuredly we shall meet again; there possess in peace, the joys of everlasting love and friendship on earth, imperfect and embittered! (Retires in the recess.)

LESSON CXXVI.

Van Artevelde's Address to the Men of Ghent.-TAYLOR

SIRS, ye have heard these knights discourse to you ill fortunes, telling on their fingers

Of your

The worthy leaders ye have lately lost.

True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs;
And ill would it become us to make light

Of the great loss we suffer by their fall.
They died like heroes; for no recreant step
Had e'er dishonour'd them, no stain of fear,
No base despair, no cowardly recoil.
They had the hearts of freemen to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins

Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.

But had they guess'd, or could they but have dreamed, The great examples which they died to show

Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here,

That men should say, "For liberty these died,

Wherefore let us be slaves,"-had they thought this,

Oh, then, with what an agony of shame,
Their blushing faces buried in the dust,
Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven!

What! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth To write, that in five bodies were contained

The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five defunct,
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led,
Deliver'd up her keys, stript off her robes,
And so with all humility besought

Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly!
It shall not be-no, verily! for now,

Thus looking on you as ye stand before me,
Mine eye can single out full many a man
Who lacks but opportunity to shine
As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell.-
But lo! the Earl is mercifully minded!
And surely if we, rather than revenge
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame,
And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned,
Then will my lord the Earl have mercy on us!
And pardon us our letch for liberty!

What pardon it shall be, if we know not,

Yet Yprés, Courtray, Grammont, Bruges, they know;
For never can those towns forget the day

When by the hangman's hands five hundred men,
The bravest of each guild, were done to death
In those base butcheries that he called pardons.
And did it seal their pardons, all this blood?
Had they the Earl's good love from that time forth?
Oh, sirs! look round you, lest ye be deceived;
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue,
Forgiveness may be written with the pen,

But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart.

There's that betwixt you been which men remember
Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot,-
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them.
There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves,
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves;
For must it not be thought some base men's souls
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turn'd you out,
If, in the coldness of a craven heart,

Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man

For all his black, and murderous, monstrous crimes?

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