In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods are waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot;
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Til' her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died.
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name
_The Lady of Shalott_.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
* * * * *
IF WE HAD THE TIME.
If I had the time to find a place
And sit me down full face to face
With my better self, that cannot show
In my daily life that rushes so:
It might be then I would see my soul
Was stumbling still towards the shining goal,
I might be nerved by the thought sublime,--
If I had the time!
If I had the time to let my heart
Speak out and take in my life a part,
To look about and to stretch a hand
To a comrade quartered in no-luck land;
Ah, God! If I might but just sit still
And hear the note of the whip-poor-will,
I think that my wish with God's would rhyme--
If I had the time!
If I had the time to learn from you
How much for comfort my word could do;
And I told you then of my sudden will
To kiss your feet when I did you ill;
If the tears aback of the coldness feigned
Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,--
Brothers, the souls of us all would chime,
If we had the time!
RICHARD BURTON.
* * * * *
A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.
"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."
_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the
King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After
drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug
sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and
proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through
which he passes.
The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice
has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires
him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be
selected.
These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow
standing near.
Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice
Shallow.
_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is
Justice Shallow?
_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county,
and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure
with me?
_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.
_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man.
How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter
Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand.
By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir
John.
_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.
Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a
dozen sufficient men?
_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you.
_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let
me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry
sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do
so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you.
_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young,
strong, and of good friends.
_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy?
_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you.
_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said.
Shall I prick him, Sir John?
_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him.
_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let
me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and
her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you
are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow?
_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to
be a cold soldier.
_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow?
_Shadow_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou?
_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow.
Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.
_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart!
_Falstaff_.--Where's he?
_Wart_.--Here, sir!
_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart?
_Wart_.--Yea, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John?
_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his
back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend
you well.--Francis Feeble.
_Feeble_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble?
_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes
in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous
Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous
mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master
Shallow.
_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir.
_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend
him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir.
_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.
_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till
he roar again.
_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,--
_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?
_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man.
_Falstaff_.--What disease hast thou?
_Bullcalf_.--A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have
away with thy cold. Is here all?
_Shallow_.--Here is two more than your number. You must have but four
here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.
_Falstaff_.--Come, I will go drink with you.
(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_.)
_Bullcalf_.--(_Approaching Bardolph_.) Good Master Corporate
Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go;
and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends;
else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much.
_Bardolph_.--(_Pocketing the money_.) Go to; stand aside.
_Feeble_.--By my troth, I care not.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
* * * * *
A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.
AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER.
_Introduction_.--The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs.
Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A
temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for
something to turn up.
Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is
holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of
the children are scattered about the floor.
Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of
creditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:--
(_Mrs. Micawber_.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be
calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give
him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking
now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in,
Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in.
_Heep_.--Is Mr. Micawber in?
_Mrs. Mic_.--No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no
stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's
affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch
cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,--and
including the twins,--there is nothing to eat in the house.
_Heep_.--How dreadful! (_Aside_.) The very man for my purpose.
(_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing.
Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.)
_Micawber_.--(_Not seeing Heep_.) The clouds have gathered, the
storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of
Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in
my misery!
_Mrs. Mic_.--I'll never desert my Micawber!
_Mic_.--In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!"
But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving
materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_)
sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see
you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective,
if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would
have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the
momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent
collision with a minion of the law,--in short, with a ribald turncock
attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been
cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum!
_Heep_.--Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of
your indebtedness?
_Mic_.--It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc.,
some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny.
_Heep_.--I'll pay it for you.
_Mic_.--My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I
admit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_.) Enter
myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady.
(_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_.)
_Heep_.--Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to
giving me your I.O.U. for the amount.
_Mic_.--Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any
species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me,
Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of
memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_.) I suppose this is
renewable on the usual term?
_Heep_.--Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the
position of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield and
Heep.
_Mic_.--What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no
hesitation in saying something has at last turned up!
_Heep_.--You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to
speak a few words to your husband in private.
_Mrs. Mic_.--Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper!
_Mic_.--My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent!
Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, and
another score may be begun at the butcher's.--Heep, precede me. Emma, my
love. _Au Revoir_.
(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_.)
* * * * *
A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.
CHARACTERS.
OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY,
HAM PEGGOTTY,
DAVID COPPERFIELD.
_Introduction_.--The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time
is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is
snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and
Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little
Em'ly home from her work,--and the old fisherman sits smoking his
evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth
and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and
David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him.
_Old Peg_.--Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're
the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw
right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's
a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when
there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea.
Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights a
candle and puts it on the table by the window_.) Theer we are! Theer we
are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin'
what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for
my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter
dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home
from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the
table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,--first, Em'ly sees it and
she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't
here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r
Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am.
(_Walks towards table_.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to
consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine.
See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little
Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door to
meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_.)
_Ham_.--She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even
now! She's gone!
_Peggotty_.--Gone!!
_Ham_.--Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I
pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her
come to disgrace and shame.
_Peggotty_.--Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must have
proof--proof.
_Ham_.--Read that writin'.
_Peggotty_.--No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy.
Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand.
_David_.--(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away."
_Peggotty_.--Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little
Em'ly fur away! Well?
_David_.--(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he brings
me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try
to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My
last love and last tears for Uncle."
_Peggotty_.--Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man's
name.
_Ham_.--It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know.
_Peggotty_.--What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you?
_Ham_.--Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain!
_Peggotty_.--Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it,
Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat.
_David_.--Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?
_Peggotty_.--I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm
going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as
I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him,
and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly
throughout the wide wurrety!
* * * * *
A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.
_Introduction_.--This scene introduces the following
characters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care,
true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his
desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his
sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest.
It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle
on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters.
_Mrs. O'K_.--Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond
of mine has been around this way.
_Moya_.--Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of his
own?
_Mrs. O'K_.--The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His
father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way.
_Moya_.--I thought your husband was drowned at sea?
_Mrs. O'K_.--And bless him, so he was.
_Moya_.--Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink.
_Mrs. O'K_.--The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betther
never drhawed the breath o' life.
_Moya_.--But you say he never was sober.
_Mrs. O'K_.--Niver! An' Conn takes afther him!
_Moya_.--Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn.
_Mrs. O'K_.--Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good
dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands.
_Moya_.--Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken
yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly.
_Mrs. O'K_.--Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--but
dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'.
_Moya_.--Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives.
_Mrs. O'K_.--That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a
gintleman is called a blackguard.
(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_.)
_Conn_.--(_At left_.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya,
Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as
he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems
to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_.)
Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word
that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes his
finger at his mother_.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very
minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But
she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck
for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a
kiss.
_Mrs. O'K_.--Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been
in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse.
_Conn_.--Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his
paddock this minute.
_Mrs. O'K_.--But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'?
_Conn_.--Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a
man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this
was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the
cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor,
my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye
ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the
churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground!
Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide
me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to
her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their
yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox
went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to
the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field
came roaring past.
The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye
divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth.
Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home,
now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her.
Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was
over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I;
"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried
me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of
the hounds, Squire Foley himself.
He turned the color of his leather breeches.
"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brown
mare?"
"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!"
"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire.
"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!"
_Moya_.--(_Laughing_.) And what did he say to that, Conn?
_Conn_.--I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone
wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch.
_Mrs. O'K_.--You'll get a month in jail for this.
_Conn_.--Well, it was worth it.
BOUCICAULT.