We grant, thou canst out-scold us; fare thee well. With such a babbler. Pand. Give me leave to speak. Faul. No, I will speak. Lewis. We will attend to neither. Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interests, and our being here. Faul. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start An echo with the clamor of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready braced, And pluck the deep-mouthed thunder; for at hand Whom he hath used rather for sport than need,) Is warlike John: and in his forehead sits A bare-ribbed death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Lewis. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. Ex. CCXLIV.-VILLAINY OUTWITTED.-DIALOGUE FROM THE WIFE. ST. PIERRE, FERRARDO. St. Pier. Are we alone? KNOWLES. Fer. What's this? St. Pier. Are we alone! where are the craven minions That overpowered me in the corridor, And at thy bidding dragged me hither? Fer. Pshaw! Art thou no wiser than to heed them? know'st not 'Twas done upon my instruction-mine-thy friend's? St. Pier. Are we alone? Fer. We are alone. St. Pier. Art sure That door is unattended? that no minions Watch it without? Fer. I am. St. Pier. Wilt lock it? Fer. [Locking it and returning.] There! St. Pier. You struck me When I contended with the recreants, That smite this moment what the one before I ne'er received a blow from mortal man But I did pay it back with interest!-One by one The trunk and root alive,-one virtue-manhood! For contumely. You did strike me! Come! Fer. [Drawing his dagger.] Let fall thy hand And I will sheathe it in thy heart! St. Pier. I care not, So I die quits with thee! Fer. I would not kill thee, So don't advance thy hand! Nay, listen first, Thy friend, who, when he struck thee, was thy friend Who struck thee but that he should seem thy foe, St. Pier. How came I yesternight To sleep in the chamber of the duke? And why Was I assaulted by thy minions? Fer. Pshaw! Enough, thou slept'st where thou didst sleep, next chamber To the duke's wife, and thereby mad'st thy fortune. For every ducat of the sum I named Is thine but render me one service more. St. Pier. Name it. Fer. Just write for me, in boasting vein, Confession thou did'st pillow yesternight There, where the honor of the duke forbids That head save his should lie. Why do you gaze? 'Tis easily done. St. Pier. It is. Fer. It takes but pen and ink, and here they are; Make use of time! the hour that is not used Is lost, and might have been the luckiest, Converted to account: what ponder'st thou? St. Pier. [Writing.] Have you done? Fer. I have. St. Pier. And so Have I—a fair commencement! better far The fairest of the whole! howsoe'er of that I needs must take it out.-I pray your highness Fer. I have not one. St. Pier. Well, then, Your dagger-if the edge of it is sharp. Fer. There 'tis. St. Pier. And there is the confession, duke, I'm something of a clerk-I hardly hoped It would have pleased your highness! My lord duke, Sign the confession. Fer. Why? St. Pier. It pleases me. If that contents thee not, I'm in thy power, And I'd have thee in mine! Your highness sees I am frank with you. Fer. Can it be you, St. Pierre? St. Pier. No-it is you!-and not the peasant lad, Whom fifteen years ago in evil hour You chanced to cross upon his native hills,— In whose quick eye you saw the subtile spirit Man could not rob him of, and Heaven would spare, [FERRARDO attempts to rise.] Move not, or I shall move-you know me! Fer. Nay, St. Pier. You did-you gave me masters, As they did lay them down! I got the start Of my contemporaries!—not a youth Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapon, Or rule a horse with me! you gave me all All the equipments of a man of honor, But you did find a use for me, and made I charge you, keep your seat! [FERRARDO about to rise.] St. Pierre, be reasonable!-you forget St. Pier. Give me, duke, The eyes that looked upon my father's face! e;— I would not give them for it! Mark me, duke! Heaven can tell how far he wandered else! Upon that grave I knelt an altered man, And rising thence, I fled from Mantua. Ncr had returned But tyrant hunger drove me back again To thee to thee!-My body to relieve At cost of my dear soul! I have done thy work, St. Pier. Look in my eyes. Fer. Saint Pierre, perhaps I have underpaid thee? Fer. I'll double the amount! St. Pier. Come, sign! Fer. Saint Pierre, Will forty thousand ducats please thee? St. Pier. There's The dial, and the sun is shining on it The shadow is on the very point of twelve- My eye is on the dial! Pass the shadow Fer. [Writing hurriedly.] It is! Ex. CCXLV.-THIRD SCENE FROM ION. ION, AGENOR, PHOCION. TALFOURD. [ION forgives PHOCION's attempt to assassinate him.] Agen. Wilt thou not in to rest? Ion. My rest is here— Beneath the greatness of the heavens, which awes By various passions, to repose. Yet age Requires more genial nourishment-pray seek it— If any symptom of returning health Bless the wan city? Agen. No: the perishing |