« PreviousContinue »
Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
Then homeward all take off their several way;
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request
For them and for their little ones provide;
But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad; Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God;" And certes,52 in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind: What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human-kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blessed with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, however crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand, a wall of fire, around their much-loved isle.
O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide
That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dared to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part
(The patriot's God peculiarly Thou art,
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert:
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard,
la bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
JOHN WOLCOTT. 1738-1819. (Manual, p. 370.)
252. THE RAZOR SELLER.
A fellow in a market town,
Most musical, cried razors up and down,
As every man would buy, with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,
"No matter if the fellow be a knave,
It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lathered from a dish or tub,
"Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried
All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge sighed,
Hodge sought the fellow- found him and begun :
Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave.”
"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave:
As for the razors you have bought,
Upon my soul I never thought
That they would shave."
"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;
What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries:
"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile, "to SELL."
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 1751-1816. (Manual, p. 371.)
FROM "THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."
253. THE OLD HUSBAND AND THE YOUNG WIFE.
Sir Peter Teazle. But here comes my helpmate! She appears i great good humor. How happy I should be if I could tease her into loving me, though but a little!
Enter LADY TEAZLE.
Lady Teaz. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelli:g with Maria? It is not using me well to be ill humored when I am not by.
Sir Pet. Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good humored at all times.
Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good humored now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you?
Sir Pet. Two hundred pounds; what, a'n't I to be in a good humor without paying for it! But speak to me thus, and i' faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it; but seal me a bond for the repayment.
Lady Teaz. O, no
there my note of hand will do as well.
Sir Pet. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you: but shall we always live thus, hey?
Lady Teaz. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first.
Well then let our future contest be, who shall be
Sir Pet. most obliging.
Lady Teaz. I assure you, Sir Peter, good nature becomes you. You look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, who would eng me nothing didn't you?
Sir Pet. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and attentive
Lady Teaz. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part, wnen my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. Sir Pet. Indeed!
Lady Teaz. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said, I didn't think you so ugly by any means.
Sir Pet. Thank you,
Lady Teaz. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a husband.
Sir Pet. And you prophesied right; and we shall now be the happiest couple
Lady Teaz. And never differ again?
Sir Pet. No, never! - though at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in al our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always began first.
Lady Teaz. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter; indeed, you always gave the provocation.
Sir Pet. Now see, my angel! take care way to keep friends.
contradicting isn't the
You don't per
Lady Teaz. Then don't you begin it, my love! Sir Pet. There, now! you - you are going on. ceive, my love, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry.
Lady Teaz. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, my dear
Sir Pet. There! now you want to quarrel again.
Lady Teaz. No, I'm sure I don't; but, if you will be so peevish
Lady Teaz. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing — but there's no bearing your temper.
Sir Pet. No, no, madam; the fault's in your own temper.
Lady Teaz. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be.
Sir Pet. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gypsy.
Lady Teaz. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations. Sir Pet. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more!
Lady Teaz. So much the better.
Sir Pet. No, no, madam: 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you—a pert, rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in the neighborhood.
Lady Teaz. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could meet with any one who would have him.
Sir Pet. Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough to listen to me: you never had such an offer before.
Lady Teaz. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who everybody · said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married.
Sir Pet. I have done with you, madam. You are an unfeeling, ungrateful—but there's an end of everything. I believe you capable of everything that is bad. Yes, madam, I now believe the reports relative to you and Charles, madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles are, not without grounds
Lady Teaz. Take care, Sir Peter! you had better not insinuate any such thing! I'll not be suspected without cause, I promise you.
Sir Pet. Very well, madam! very well! A separate maintenance as soon as you please. Yes, madam, or a divorce! I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. Let us separate, madam.
Lady Teaz. Agreed! agreed! And now, my dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more; we may be the happiest couple, and never differ again, you know; ha! ha! ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt you -so, bye, bye? [Exit. Sir Pet. Plagues and tortures! can't I make her angry either! O, I am the most miserable fellow! But I'll not bear her presuming to keep her temper: no! she may break my heart, but she shan't keen her temper. [Enit.