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Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang And with circles of red for his eye-socket's white,

rim. And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight."

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster

let fall, *. How they'll greet us!" and all in a moment Shook off my jack-boots, let go belt and all, his roan

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

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"At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one."

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse stone;

without peer, And there was my Roland to bear the whole Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any weight

sound, bad or good, of the news which alone could save Aix from Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and her fate,

stood. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,

And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the Which, the burgesses voted by common con ground;

sent, And no voice but was praising this Roland of Was no more than his due who brought good mine,

news from Ghent. 15 I poured down his throat our last measure

ROBERT BROWXING. of wine,

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y horse without fuerin Then I cart look my biprout, ench-hulster det full, shork of both my jack boots, lh ge belt and all, svord up in the sterrup, lehned a putted his car, Called nay

peh.name clapped

my hands, laughed and sang , hny noise, heel ergod, Lill at length into hix Roland galloped and stood. and all a remember u, prends Working wound ng I date with his hend Twith my knees in the grond, hnd no voin but was pressing this Roland of mine, and poured doon his throut on last measure of which the hergesses voted by common consent) hoha no more than hisdue who bought good news from Shead

Robest Browum

WIL

soms.

THE FALL OF WOLSEY.

(From " King Henry VIII.,” Act III., Scene 2.) SAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my But far beyond my depth; my high-blown greatness !

pride This is the state of man: To-day he puts At length broke under me; and now has left forth

me, The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blos- Weary, and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. And bears his blushing honors thick upon Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate him:

ye; The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; I feel my heart new open'd: 0, how wretched And, when he thinks, good easy man, full Is that poor man that hangs on princes' fasurely

vors! His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root, There is betwixt that smile we would aspire And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,

to, Like little wanton boys that swim on blad- That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, ders,

More pangs and fears than wars or women This many summers in a sea of glory;

have,

*

*

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, But they did say their prayers, and addressid Never to hope again.

them
Enter Cromwell, amazedly.

Again to sleep.
Why, how now, Cromwell ?

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Macb. One cried, God bless us! and, Amen, Wol.

What, amaz'd

the other. At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder, As they had seen me, with these hangmen's A great man should decline? Nay, an you hands. weep,

Listening their fear, I could not say, amen, I am fallen indeed.

When they did say, God bless us. Crom. How does your grace?

Lady M.

Consider it not so deeply. Wol.

Why, well;

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

amen? I know myself now; and I feel within me I had most need of blessing, and amen A peace above all earthly dignities,

Stuck in my throat. A still and quiet conscience. The king has

Lady M.

These deeds must not be thought cur'd me,

After these ways; so, it will make us mad. I humbly thank his grace; and from these Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep shoulders,

no more! These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; A load would sink a navy, too much honour: Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care, 0, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second *

course, Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition; Chief nourisher in life's feast ;By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, Lady M. What do you mean? The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more! to all the Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that

house: hate thee;

Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore CawCorruption wins not more than honesty.

dor Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear more! not:

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

worthy thane, Thy God's and truth's; then if thou fall'st, o You do unbend your noble strength, to think Cromwell,

So brainsickly of things :-Go, get some water, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king. And wash this filthy witness from your And,-prythee, lead me in :

hand.There take an inventory of all I have,

Why did you bring these daggers from the To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe,

place? And my integrity to heaven, is all

They must lie there: Go, carry them; and I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell,

The sleepy grooms with blood. Had I but served my God with half the zeal

Macb. I'll go no more : I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age

I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Look on't again, I dare not.
WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

Lady M.

Infirm of purpose !

Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the FEAR.

dead,

Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood, (From Macbeth, Act II., Scene 2.)

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, ACB. There's one did laugh in his sleep, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, and one cried, murder!

For it must seem their guilt. That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them:

WILLIAM SHAKŞPERE.

smear

THE SHIPWRECK.

(From Don Juan," Canto II.) WHEN rose from sea to sky the wild fare- And strives to strangle him before he die. well

And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash brave,

Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushid, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful Save the wild wind and the remorseless yell,

dash

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"And the sea yawn’d around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave." As eager to anticipate their grave;

Of billows; but at intervals there gushid, And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, And down she suck'd with her the whirling A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry wave,

Of some strong swimmer in his agony. Like one who grapples with his enemy,

GEORGE GORDON, LORD Byrox.

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THE DREAM OF CLIRENCE.

(From "King Richard III.," Act I., Scene 4.) OLAR. Methought, that I had broken from Who from my cabin tempted me to walk the Tower,

Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;

England,
And in my company, my brother Gloster: And cited up a thousand heavy times,

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me:

During the wars of York and Lancaster Clarence is come,-false, fleeting, perjur'd ClarThat had befall’n us. As we pac'd along

rence, l'pon the giddy footing of the hatches, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ;Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments ! falling,

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Struck me, that thought to stay him, over- Environ’d me, and howled in mine ears board,

Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, Into the tumbling billows of the main. I trembling wak’d, and, for a season after, O Lord! methought, what pain it was to Could not believe but that I was in hell; drown!

Such terrible impression made my dream. What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!

you; Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, things,Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

That now give evidence against my soul,All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes

O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease Where eyes did once inhabit, there were thee, crept

But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 0, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor childAnd mocked the dead bones that lay scatter'd ren! by.

I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. death,

Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ?

good rest! Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I

[Cla. reposes himself on a chair. strive

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth

night. To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; Princes have but their titles for their glories, But smother'd it within my panting bulk, An outward honour for an inward toil; Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. And, for unfelt imaginations, Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore They often feel a world of restless cares: agony!

So that between their titles, and low name, Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. O, then began the tempest to my soul; I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write

HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS. of, Into the kingdom of perpetual night.

(From "King Henry V.," Act III., Scene 1.) The first that there did greet my stranger ZING HEN.' Once more unto the breach, soul,

dear friends, once more; Was my great father-in-law, renowned War- Or close the wall up with our English dead! wick,

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, Who cry'd aloud,– What scourge for perjury As modest stillness, and humility : Can this dark monarchy offer false Clarence ? But when the blast of war blows in our ears, And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring Then imitate the action of the tiger; by

Stiffen the sinews, snmmon up the blood, A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage: Dabbled in blood and he shriek'd out Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; aloud,

Let it pry through the portage of the head,

life;

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