Page images
PDF
EPUB

or such cooling fruit as the kind hospitable woods provide. They left me then, when the gray-hooded even, like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. But where they are, and why they came not back, is now the labour of my thoughts; 'tis likeliest they had engaged their wandering steps too far; and envious darkness, ere they could return, had stole them from me: else, O thievish night, why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, in thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, that Nature hung in heaven, and fill'd their lamps with everlasting oil, to give due light to the misled and lonely traveller? This is the place, as well as I may guess, whence even now the tumult of loud mirth was rife, and perfect in my listening ear; yet nought but single darkness do I find. What might this be? A thousand fantasies begin to throng into my memory, of calling Shapes and beckoning Shadows dire, and aëry tongues that syllable men's names on sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound, the virtuous mind, that ever walks attended by a strong siding champion, Conscience. O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith! white-handed Hope, thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings! and thou, unblemished form of Chastity! I see ye visibly, and now believe that He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill are but as slavish officers of vengeance, would send a glistering guardian, if need were, to keep my life and honour unassail'd.

5.-COMUS AND THE LADY.-Milton.

[The Dialogue is preceded by the Lady's Song. See page 161.]

Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, and with these raptures moves the vocal air to testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings of silence through the emptyvaulted night; at every fall smoothing the raven down of darkness, till it smiled! I have oft heard my mother Circe, with the Syrens three, amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs; who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, and lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept, and chid her barking waves into attention, and fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause; yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, and in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; but such a sacred and home-felt delight, such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now. I'll speak to her, and she shall be my queen... Hail, foreign wonder!—whom, certain, these rough shades did never breed,-unless the goddess that in rural shrine dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan, by blest song forbidding every bleak unkindly fog to touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise that is address'd to unattending ears. Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift how to regain my severed company, compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo to give me answer from her mossy couch.

Comus. What chance, good lady, hath bereft
you thus?
Lady. Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth.
Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?
Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf.
Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?
Lady. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring.
Comus. And left your fair side, all unguarded, lady?
Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return.
Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.
Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Comus. Imports their loss beside the present need?
Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose.

Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?

Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips.

Comus. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox in his loose traces from the furrow came, and the swink'd hedger at his supper sat; I saw them-under a green mantling vine, that crawls along the side of yon small hill-plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. Their port was more

than human as they stood: I took it for a faery vision of some gay creatures of the element that in the colours of the rainbow live, and play i' the plighted clouds. I was awe-struck, and as I pass'd, I worshipp'd. If those you seek, it were a journey like the path to heaven to help you find them.

Lady. Gentle villager, what readiest way would bring me to that place? Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

Lady. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose, in such a scant allowance of star-light, would overtask the best land-pilot's art, without the sure guess of well-practised feet.

Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, and every bosky bourn from side to side,-my daily walks and ancient neighbourhood; and if your stray attendants be yet lodged, or shroud within these limits, I shall know, ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark from her thatch'd pallet rouse; if otherwise, I can conduct you, lady, to a low but loyal cottage, where you may be safe till further quest.

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word. and trust thy honest-offered cour

tesy; which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, with smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls and courts of princes, where it first was named, and yet is most pretended: in a place less warranted than this, or less secure, I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.-Eye me, bless'd Providence, and square my trial to my proportion'd strength!-Shepherd, lead on.

FOUR SELECTIONS FROM THE " HONEYMOON."-Tobin.
6. FIRST SELECTION.

[Two Speakers-The Duke Aranza and Juliana.]

SCENE-A Cottage with humble furniture.

Duke. You are welcome home.

Juliana. Home! You are merry; this retired spot would be a palace for an owl!

Duke. 'Tis ours.

Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it.

Duke. Nay, indeed, this is the noble mansion that I spoke of!

Jul. This!-You are not in earnest, though you bear it with such a sober brow?-Come, come, you jest!

Duke. Indeed I jest not; were it ours in jest, we should have none, wife. Jul. Are you serious, sir?

Duke. I swear, as I'm your husband,-and no duke!

Jul. No duke?

Duke. But of my own creation, lady.

Jul. Am I betray'd?-Nay, do not play the fool! It is too keen a joke. Duke. You'll find it true.

Jul. You are no duke, then?

Duke. None.

Jul. [Aside] Have I been cozen'd?

No palaces, nor houses?

And have you no estate, sir?

Duke. None but this:-a small snug dwelling, and in good repair. Jul. Nor money, nor effects?

Duke. None that I know of.

Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us—

Duke. They were my friends; who, having done my business, are gone about their own.

Jul. [Aside] Why, then, 'tis clear.-That I was ever born!—What are you, sir?

Duke. I am an honest man-that may content you! Young, nor illfavour'd-should not that content you? I am your husband, and that must content you.

Jul. I will go home!

Duke. You are at home, already.

Jul. I'll not endure it !—But remember this-Duke, or no duke, I'll be a duchess, sir!

Duke. A duchess! You shall be a queen,- to all who, by their courtesy, will call you so.

Jul. And I will have attendance!

Duke. So you shall-when you have learned to wait upon yourself! Jul. To wait upon myself! Must I bear this? I could tear out my

eyes that bade you woo me, and bite my tongue in two for saying “yes !” Duke. And if you should, 'twould grow again.-I think, to be an honest yeoman's wife, (for such, my would-be duchess, you will find me), you were cut out by nature.

Jul. You will find then, that education, sir, has spoiled me for it.— Why do you think I'll work?

Duke. I think 'twill happen, wife.

Jul. What! rub and scrub your noble palace clean?

Duke. Those taper fingers will do it daintily.

Jul. And dress your victuals (if there be any)?—Oh! I could go mad! Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps neatly; wait, like an echo, till you're spoken to

Jul. Or like a clock, talk only once an hour?

Duke. Or like a dial; for that quietly performs its work, and never speaks at all.

Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs!-Oh! monstrous! And when I stir abroad, on great occasions, carry a squeaking tithe-pig to the vicar; or jolt with higglers' wives the market trot, to sell your eggs and butter! Duke. Excellent! How well you sum the duties of a wife! Why, what a blessing I shall have in you!

Jul. A blessing!

Duke. When they talk of you and me, Darby and Joan shall be no more remembered.—We shall be happy!

Jul. Shall we?

Duke. Wondrous happy! Oh, you will make an admirable wife!
Jul. I'll not bear it! I'll to my father's!—

Duke. Gently! you forget-you are a perfect stranger to the road.
Jul. My wrongs will find a way, or make one.

Duke. Softly! You stir not hence, except to take the air; and then— I'll breathe it with you.

Jul. What, confine me?

Duke. "Twould be unsafe to trust you yet abroad.

Jul. Am I a truant school-boy?

Duke. Nay, not so; but you must keep your bounds.

Jul. And if I break them, perhaps you'll beat me

Duke. Beat you! The man that lays his hand upon a woman, save in the way of kindness, is a wretch whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward. I'll talk to you, lady, but not beat you.

Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father, I may write to him, surely! —And I will—if I can meet within your spacious dukedom three such unhoped-for miracles at once, as pens, and ink, and paper.

Duke. You will find them in the next room.-A word, before you go. -You are my wife, by every tie that's sacred; the partner of my fortune and my home

Jul. Your fortune!

Duke. Peace!-No fooling, idle woman! Beneath the attested eye of Heaven I've sworn to love, to honour, cherish, and protect you. No human power can part us. What remains then? To fret, and worry, and torment each other, and give a keener edge to our hard fate by sharp upbraidings, and perpetual jars ?—or, like a loving and a patient pair (waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend upon their daily labour for support,) to soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness with sweet content, and mutual fond endearment?...Now to your chamber-write whate'er you please ;-but pause before you stain the spotless paper, with words that may inflame, but cannot heal!

Jul. Why, what a patient worm you take me for!

Duke. I took you for a wife; and, e'er I've done, I'll know you for a good one.

7.-SECOND SELECTION.

The Cottage as before.

[Three Speakers—the Duke, Juliana, and Lopez.]

Duke. Nay, no resistance! For a month, at least, I am your husband. Jul. True!-And what's a husband?

Duke. Why, as some wives would metamorphose him, a very miserable ass, indeed!

Jul. True, there are many such.

Duke. And there are men, whom not a swelling lip, or wrinkled brow, or the loud rattle of a woman's tongue-or, what's more hard to parry, the warm close of lips that from the inmost heart of man plucks out his stern

« PreviousContinue »