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Enter Hostess and LAM-PE'DO, followed by BAL-Thaz'ar unperceived.
The latter carries a drawn sword, and overhears what is said of him.
Hostess. Doctor Lampedo, you must keep this man, if you can so contrive it, another fortnight in my house. Come, you shall not be the loser. Your bill already must be almost as long as mine is. Another fortnight, doctor.
Lampedo. It can not be. The man's as well as I am. Have some mercy. He has been here almost three weeks already. His accident ought not to have detained him half a day.
Host. Well, then, a week — detain him a week.
Lam. You talk now like a reasonable hostess that sometimes has a reckoning with her conscience. We may keep him a week.
Host. He still believes he has an inward bruise.
Lam. I would he had! Or that he had slipped his shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two (not that I bear his person any malice), or luxed an arm, or even sprained his ankle.
Host. Ay, broken any thing except his neck.
Lam. However, for a week I'll manage him. He has the constitution of a horse — but I'll manage him. A farrier should prescribe for him — but I'll manage him.
Host. Do so, doctor. Custom is scarce; but the occupant of the best room must pay a big price.
Lam. Let me see — let me see. To-morrow we phlebotomize again ; the next day I make him swallow my new-invented pătent draught; then I have some pills prepared; on Thursday we throw in the bark; on Friday
Balthazar (coming forward). Well, sir, on Friday — what on Friday ? Come, proceed.
Bal. On your knees! 'T is well. Pray, — for your time is short.
Host. Nay, do not kill us.
Bal. You have been tried, condemned, and only wait for execution. Which shall I begin with ?
Lam. The elder one, by all means.
Bal. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross flesh - tell me, and in a breath — how many poisons you have cooked up for me.
Host. None, as I hope for mercy.
Host. No, indeed, sir. 'Tis not, I own, of the first quality, but
Bal. But what? Speak out.
Host. I always give short measure, sir, and ease my conscience that way.
Bal. Ease your conscience, indeed! I'll ease your conscience for you.
Host. Mercy, sir! The times are hard.
Bal. If, in five minutes, all things are prepared for my departure, you may yet survive. .
Host. It shall be done in less time.
Bal. Away! Be speedy. (The Hostess goes out.)
Lam. So ! now comes my turn. 'Tis all over with me. There's dagger, rope, and ratsbane, in his looks!
Bal. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man! thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun!--thou
Lam. I do confess my leanness. I am spare, and therefore spare me.
Bal. Why! wouldst thou have made me a thorough. fare for thy whole shop ?
Lam. Man, you know, must live.
Bal. I'll send you to the major part of them. The window, sir, is open. Come, prepare !
Lam. Pray, consider; I may hurt some one in the street.
Bal. Why, then, I'll rattle theę to pieces in a dicebox, or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder; for thou must sup with Pluto! So, make ready; whilst I, with this good small-sword for a lancet, let thy starved spirit out (for blood thou hast none), and nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look like a dried beetle, with a pin stuck through him.. · Lam. Consider my poor wife.
Bal. Thy wife!
Lam. I have a wife, and three angelic babes, who,' by those looks, are well-nigh fatherless.
Bal. Well, well! your wife and children shall plead for you. Come, come; the pills ! where are the pills ? Produce them.
Lam. Here is the box.
Bal. Were it Pandoʻra's, and each single pill had. ten diseases in it, you should take them.
Lam. What, all ?
Bal. Ay, all; and quickly, too. Come, sir, begin! That's well! another.
Lam. One's a dose.
Bal. Proceed, sir! Good! Swallow it fairly. Is it down?
Lam. It is down, sir, I regret to say..
Lam. What will become of me? Let me go home, and set my shop to rights, and, like immortal Cæsar, die with decency.
Bal. Away! and thank thy lucky star I have not brayed thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee for a large specimen of the lizard genus.
Lam. Would I were one! for they can feed on air.
Altered from John TOBIN. (1770 — 1804.)
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
0! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
The king has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest;
king!” “ And if my standard-bearer fall, - as fall full well he may,(For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray), Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war. And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre.”
Hurra! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
his rein ; D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish count is slain ;