Namancos, near Cape
Finisterre, in Spain.
Bayona, Bayonne, on

the south-west coast

of France.
Ruth, pity, mercy.
Dolphin, an animal
about ten feet long,

of the whale tribe.
Day-star, the sun,
when he sets.

Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos* and Bayona's * hold:
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth :
And, O ye dolphins,* waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 165
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor;
So sinks the day-star* in the ocean bed,
And yet anon* repairs his drooping head,

*

Anon, soon, quickly. And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

Tricks, adorns.

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the
waves ; *

*

*

Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,'
And hears the unexpressive* nuptial song,"
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain* him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius* of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous * flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and
rills,

While the still morn went out with sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops * of various quills,*
With eager thought warbling his Doric * lay:
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay:

At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue :
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

175

180

185

190

CHARACTER.-Shakspeare.

GOOD name, in man and woman,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands :

But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

KING JOHN,* ACT IV. SCENE I.-Shakspeare.

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE (1564-1616) the greatest of dramatic poets, and the greatest name in our literature, was born at Stratford-on-Avon, Warwickshire. He became a player in London, and afterwards the manager of a theatre. Before his death he retired with a competence to his native place. His works consist of thirty-seven plays, two poems, and a collection of sonnets. Among the plays may be mentioned such masterpieces as Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear, King John, A Midsummer's Night's Dream, Henry VIII., The Tempest, &c.

Enter HUBERT and Two ATTENDANTS.

Hub. HEAT me these irons hot; and look thou

stand*

Within the arras,* when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,

5 Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.
1 Attend. I hope your warrant* will bear out the
deed.*

ΙΟ

look

Hub. Uncleanly scruples !*_Fear not you:
to't.-
[Exeunt* ATTENDANTS.

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter ARTHUR.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.
Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince) as may be.- You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

*

Mercy on me!

Arth.
15 Methinks,* nobody should be sad but I ;
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,*
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt,
My uncle practises more harm to me :
He is afraid of me, and I of him:

20

Is it my fault, that I was Geffrey's son ?

25 No indeed is't not; And I would to heaven

*

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Look thou stand, take care to stand.

Arras, tapestry, embroidered curtains or hangings representing

sometimes battles, or the figures of men,

birds, beasts, &c, used formerly to cover the walls of mansions. First manufactured at Arras, a town in France. Warrant, written authority.

Bear out the deed,

free the doer from all blame. Uncleanly scruples, foolish fears or doubts. Exeunt, a Latin word meaning to go out. Methinks, it seems to me. Wantonness, sport, amusement, playful

ness.

Christendom, that part of the world which acknowledges the Christian faith.

King John was the younger brother of Geffrey, the third son of Henry II.

There

fore, according to law, Geffrey's son, Arthur, had a better claim to the crown than his uncle. John knowing this, and fearing a rebellion in favour of his nephew, was anxious to get rid of him.

Hub. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his innocent
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead
; [prate *
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.*

*

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day;
In sooth,* I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night and watch with you :
I warrant I love you more than you do me.

Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my

bosom.

Read here, young Arthur.

30

[Showing a paper. 35
[Aside.] How now, foolish rheum !*
Turning dispiteous* torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.—
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth.

Hub.

And will you?

40

And I will. 45

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did

but ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,

(The best I had, a princess wrought* it me,)

And I did never ask it you again.

Lack, to want, to require, to be without.

What good love, what good action.

Crafty, cunning, artful, deceitful.'

And with my hand, at midnight, held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,
Saying, What lack* you? and Where lies your grief?
Or What good love* may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty* love,
And call it, cunning; do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why then, you must.—Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, nor never shall,

50

55

60

Heat, heated. Approaching, coming near. Indignation, anger, wrath.

So much as frown upon you?

I have sworn to do it;

65

Hub.

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it
The iron of itself, though heat* red-hot,

*

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation,*

Even in the matter of my innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,

70

But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me,
75 And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd him.-No tongue
Hubert's.

Hub. Come forth!

*

but No tongue, the

expression," I would have be

[Stamps. lieved," is under

Re-enter ATTENDANTS with cords, irons, &c.
Do as I bid you do.

Arth. O save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are
out,

80 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous* rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
85 Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb,

I will not stir, nor wince,* nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly ;*

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 90 Whatever torment you do put me to.

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
I Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.
Arth. Alas! I then have chid* away my friend ;
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :-
95 Let him come back, that his compassion* may
Give life to yours.
Hub.

100

105

Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy?
Hub.

Arth. O heaven! that there were but a mote* in

None, but to lose your eyes,

[yours,

*

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense,
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous* there,
Your vile intent* must needs seem horrible.
Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance* of a brace* of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert!
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
110 So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes;
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth,* the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me.

stood to come before these words.

Tarre him on, encourage him to fight, to excite, to provoke.

Mercy-lacking, merciless, pitiless.

Arth. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with 115

grief,

Being create for comfort, to be us'd

In undeserv'd extremes: See else yourself.
There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heav'n hath blown his spirit out,
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. An 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 extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking* uses.

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine
eyes,

Owes, possesses, 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.

120

125

130

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while 135 You were disguised.*

Hub.

Peace: no more. Adieu!
Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these dogged* spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless,* and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

Arth. O heaven !-I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence; no more: go closely in with me;

Much danger do I undergo * for thee.

A FAREWELL.-Kingsley.

140

[Exeunt. 145

My gentle child, I have no song to give you ;
No lark could pipe * to skies so dull and grey;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.

Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever; 5
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long
And so make life, death, and that vast forever,
One grand, sweet song.

*