2. Moon! 'tis a very queer figure you cut: Tipsy, I see, and you're greatly to blame : 3. Then the street lamps-what a scandalous sight! 4. All is confusion! now isn't it odd? Nothing is sober that I see abroad: Sure it were rash with this crew to remain: CXCIX.-A MODEST WIT. 1. A SUPERCILIOUS nabob of the east Haughty, being great-purse-proud, being rich, A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which Had in his family an humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suite, An unassuming boy, and in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute. 2. This youth had sense and spirit; But yet, with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit. 3. One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His honor, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary. 4. "Young man," he said, "by what art, craft or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood? "— "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, 5. "A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, 7. "My father's trade! Bless me, that's too bad! My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad? He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." 8. "Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?" CC.-THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. HORACE SMITH. 1. ONE of the Kings of Scanderoon, a royal jester, had in his train a gross buffoon, who used to pester the court with tricks inopportune, venting on the highest folks his scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes. It needs some sense to play the fool: which wholesome rule occurred not to our jacanapes, who consequently found his freaks lead to innumerable scrapes, and quite as many kicks and tweaks: which only made him faster try the patience of his master. 2. Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, incurred the desperate displeasure of his serene and raging Highness. Whether the wag had twitched his beard, which he was bound to have revered, or had intruded on the shyness of the seraglio, or let fly an epigram at royalty, none knows -bis sin was an occult one; but records tell us that the Sultan, meaning to terrify the knave, exclaimed, ""Tis time to stop that breath! Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave! Thou stand'st condemned to death! Silence, base rebel! no replying. But such is my indulgence still, that, of my own free grace and will, I leave to thee the mode of dying." "Your royal will be done: 'tis just," replied the wretch, and kissed the dust: "since, my last moments to assuage, your majesty's humane decree has deigned to leave the choice to me, I'll die, so please you, of old age!" CCI.-PARODY,-THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 1. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, The cheese-press, the goose-pond, the pigs in the wild-wood, The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens, 2. I remember with pleasure my grandfather's goggles, And the harness, oft mended with tow-string and "toggles," Where we sucked up the drink through a quill in the spout, And the old cider pitcher, "no doing without: 3. And there was the school-house, away from each dwelling, I remember the ladder that swung in the passage, Where my grandmother hung up her "pumpkin and sausage,” When Fancy rides back to my old habitation, And thinks of the kittens we drowned in the well- DIALOGUES. CCII.-SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. LYTTON. [Claude Melnotte, who had received many indignities to his slighted love, from Pauline, married her under the false appearance of an Italian prince. He afterward repents: makes proper amends; and, impelled by affection, and a noble ambition, conquers a position, and becomes, in fact, her husband. ] MELNOTTE'S cottage-WIDOW bustling about. A table spread for supper. WIDOW. SO-I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed, to have forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the artifice which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. [Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE.] Widow. Oh, my boy-the pride of my heart!-welcome, welcome! I beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so! Pauline. Good woman, I really—Why, Prince, what is this ?—does the old woman know you? Oh, I guess you have done her some service. Another proof of your kind heart, is it not? Melnotte. Of my kind heart, ay! Pauline. So you know the prince? Widow. Know him, Madame?-Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think there is something very wild about her. Melnotte. Madame, I-No, I can not tell her! My knees knock together: what a coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to herspeak to her-[to his mother]—tell her that-0 Heaven, that I were dead! Pauline. How confused he looks!-this strange place-this woman— what can it mean? I half suspect--Who are you, Madame ?-who are you? Can't you speak? are you struck dumb? Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her ?—Ah, shame upon you! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all ? Pauline. All! what? My blood freezes in my veins ! Widow. Poor lady!-dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent.] Know you not then, Madame, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte? Pauline. Your son! hold! hold! do not speak to me--[approaches MELNOTTE and lays her hand on his arm.] Is this a jest? Is it? I know it is only speak--one word-one look-one smile. I can not believeI, who loved thee so--I can not believe that thou art such a-No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word.--Speak! Melnotte. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us. Widow. O Claude! that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee, of whom I was so proud! [Exit WIDOW Pauline. Her son! her son! Melnotte. Pauline. Now, lady, hear me. Hear thee? Ay, speak. Her son! have fiends a parent? Speak, Melnotte. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. Pauline. [laughing wildly.] "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, And save thy wife from madness. No, it can not, It can not be! this is some horrid dream: I shall wake soon. [Touching him.] Art flesh? art man? or but The shadows seen in sleep ?—It is too real. What have I done to thee-how sinned against thee, That thou shouldst crush me thus? Pauline! by pride Melnotte. |