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Sir A. Squints!—A red-haired girl! Zounds, no!

Capt. A. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same person. Sir A. Jack, Jack! what think you of blooming, love-breathing

seventeen?

Capt. A. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire.

Sir A. Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes, so innocently wild, so bashfully irresolute, not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting-more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck! O, Jack, Jack!

Capt. A. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the aunt?

Sir A. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you. When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly like a rocket. The aunt, indeed! Odds life! when I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched anything old or ugly, to gain an empire.

Capt. A. Not to please your father, sir?

Sir A. To please my father-Zounds! not to please-O, my father -Oddso!—Yes, yes; if my father, indeed, had desired-that's quite another matter-Though he wasn't the indulgent father that I am, Jack.

Capt. A. I dare say not, sir.

Sir A. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is so beautiful!

Capt. A. Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, 'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind-now, without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back: and, though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in favor of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that article.

Sir A. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, you are an anchorite! A vile, insensible stock! You a soldier! you're a walking block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on! Odds life, I've a great mind to marry the girl myself!

Capt. A. I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have me marry the aunt; or, if you should change your mind, and take the old lady, 'tis the same to me, I'll marry the niece.

Sir A. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very great hypocrite, or -but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject must be all a lie. I'm sure it must-come, now, hang your demure face, come, confess, Jack, you have been lying-ha'n't you? You have been playing the hypocrite, hey?—I'll never forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite.

Capt. A. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you should be so mistaken.

Sir A. Hang your respect and duty! But come along with me, I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you-come along, I'll never forgive you, if you don't come back, stark mad with rapture and impatience if you don't, 'egad I'll marry the girl myself.

From "The Rivals."

THE DEATH OF CARDINAL BEAUFORT.

SHAKSPEARE.

SCENE.-London.-Cardinal Beaufort's bed-chamber.
Enter KING HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others.

The CARDINAL in bed; Attendants with him.

K. Henry. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Cardinal. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island,

So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

When death's approach is seen so terrible!

Warwick. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial, when you will.
Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?-
O! torture me no more, I will confess.—
Alive again? then show me where he is;
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.—
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.-
Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my wingèd soul !—
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair!

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin.
Salisbury. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.
K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.-
He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him!
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.—
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.

From "King Henry VI”

KING LEAR'S RETURNING SANITY.

SHAKSPEARE.

SCENE. A Tent in the French Camp.-LEAR on a bed, asleep; Phy sicians, Gentlemen, and others, attending.

Enter CORDELIA and KENT.

Cordelia. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work,

To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,

And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is o'er-paid.

All my reports go with the modest truth;

Nor more, nor clipped, but so.

Cor. Be better suited:

These weeds are memories of those worser hours;
I pr'ythee, put them off.

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam;

Yet to be known, shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not,

Till time and I think meet.

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.-How does the king?

Physician. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind gods,

Cure this great breach in his abusèd nature!

The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up,

Of this child-changed father!

Phys. So please your majesty,

[To the Physician.

That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.

Cor. Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed

I' the sway of your own will. Is he arrayed?
Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.

Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;

I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. Very well.

Phys. Please you, draw near.-Louder the music there.
Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang

Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss

Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face

To be exposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In shorty and musty straw? Alack! alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once

Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.
Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the grave:-

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound

Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears

Do scald like molten lead.

Cor. Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know; When did you

die?

Cor. Still, still, far wide!

Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile.

Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?-Fair day-light?—

I am mightily abused.—I should even die with pity,

To see another thus.-I know not what to say.

I will not swear, these are my hands:-let's see;

I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assured
Of my condition.

Cor. O, look upon me, sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:-
No, sir, you must not kneel.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish fond old man,

Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,

I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks, I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is: and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

If

Cor. And so I am, I am.

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not: you have poison for me, I will drink it.

I know, you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

Cor. No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,

You see, is cured in him: and yet it is danger

To make him even o'er the time he has lost.

Desire him to go in; trouble him no more,
Till further settling.

Cor. Will't please your highness walk?
Lear. You must bear with me:

Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old, and foolish.

[Exeunt LEAR, CORDELIA, Physician, and Attendants.

Gentleman. Holds it true, sir,

That the duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent. Most certain, sir.

Gent. Who is conductor of his people?

Kent. As 'tis said,

The bastard son of Gloster.

Gent. They say, Edgar,

His banished son, is with the earl of Kent

In Germany.

Kent. Report is changeable.

'Tis time to look about; the powers o' the kingdom

Approach apace.

Gent. The arbitrament is like to be a bloody.

Fare you well, sir.

Kent. My point and period will be throughly wrought,

Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought.

[Exit.

[Exit.

From "King Lear."

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