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For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound !
Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Hub. I can heat it, boy.
Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes : see else yourself ;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert; Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes, And, like a dog that is compell’d to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office; only you do lack That mercy which fierce fire and iron extend, Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
Hub. Well, see to live : I will not touch thine eyes, For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised.
Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu !
LARS PORSENA of Clusium
By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
And named a trysting day,
East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome.
The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a fruitful plain ;
Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine.
Tall are the oaks whose acorns
Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs
Of the Ciminian hill;
Is to the herdsman dear;
The great Volsinian mere.
Is heard by Auser's rill ; No hunter tracks the stag's green path
Up the Ciminian hill; Unwatch'd along Clitumnus
Grazes the milk-white steer : Unharm’d the water-fowl may dip
In the Volsinian mere.
The harvests of Arretium,
reap; This year, young boys in Umbro
Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must shall foam Round the white fleet of laughing girls,
Whose sires have march'd to Rome.
To eastward and to westward
Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote,
In Crustumierium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia
Hath wasted all the plain ; Astur hath storm'd Janiculum,
And the stout guards are slain.
I wis, in all the Senate,
There was no heart so bold,
When that ill news was told.
Uprose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up
gowns, And hied them to the wall.
They held a council standing,
Before the River-gate;
For musing or debate.
“The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost,
Nought else can save the town."
Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear :
Lars Porsena is here."
Rise fast along the sky.
And nearer fast and nearer
Doth the red whirlwind come;
The trampling and the hum.
Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right,