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Del. That's not the Duke's' letter, sir; that is a notice' to a certain prison to take heed of one Count Rozencrantz, a foolish', idle' boy`; for all that', very knavish. Pray you', sir', put it up` again.

1st Sold. Nay, I'll read` it first, by your favor.

[Reading] When he swears oaths', bid him drop gold', and take it; After he scores', he never pays' the score:

Half won' is match well made`; match', and well make` it.
He ne'er pays after debts, take it before'.

For count of this', the count's a fool', I know` it,
Who pays before', but not when he does owe it.

Count R. He shall be whipped through the army', with these rhymes on his forehead'.

2d Capt. D.

This' is your devoted friend`, the learned linguist and the gallant soldier.

Count R. I could endure any thing before but a cat`, and now he's

a cat to me.

1st Sold. I perceive', sir', by the general's looks', we shall be fain to hang' you.

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Del. My life, sir', in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that my offenses being many', I would repent out the remainder of my nature. Let me live`, sir', in a dungeon`, in the stocks`, or any' where, SO I may live'.

1st Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore once more to this Captain Dumain. You have answered to his reputation with the duke', and to his valor. What is his honesty`?

Del. He will steal, sir, an egg' out of a cloister. He pretends' not to keep oaths', but in breaking' them is stronger than Hercules'. He will lie', sir, with such volubility', that you would think truth were a fool' drunkenness' is his best virtue'. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should' have, he has nothing`.

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Count R. Hang him. He is more and more a cat'.

1st Sold. His qualities being at this poor price', I need not ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

Del. Sir, for the fourth part of a French crown, he will sell the feesimple of his salvation', the inheritance' of it, and cut the entail from all remainder'.

1st Sold. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

2d Capt. D. Why does he ask of me`?

1st Sold. What's he?

Del. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altogether so great as the other in goodness', but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward', yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat', he outruns a lackey`; marry`, in coming on' he has the cramp'.

1st Sold. If your life is saved', will you undertake to betray your friends'?

Del. Ay, the captain of their horse, Count Rozencrantz', and all` of them.

1st Sold. I'll whisper with the general and know his pleasure'. Del. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums. Only to seem' to deserve well, and to get the good opinion of that foolish young boy',

the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?

[Aside.

1st Sold. There is no remedy, sir', but you must die'. The general says, you', that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, and made such villainous reports of men in high estimation', can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die`. Come, headsman', off with his head.

Del. O lord', sir'. let me live', or let me see my death!

1st Sold. That you shall`, and take your leave of all your friends. [Unmuffling him.

So, look about

2d Capt. D.

you; know you any here'?

Count R. Good-morrow', noble captain'.
God bless you, Captain Delgrado.
God save you, noble captain'.

1st Capt. D. 2d Capt. D. France'.

What greeting will you to my lord Lafeu', I'm for

1st Capt. D. Good captain', will you give me a copy of your sonnet'? If I were not a very coward, I'd compel it of you; but fare-youwell'. [Exeunt Count R., Capt. D. and brother. 1st Sold. You are undone, captain'; all but your scarf`, that` has a knot' on't yet'.

Del. Who cannot be crushed with a plot'?

1st Sold. I'm for France, too: farewell', we shall speak of you there'.

Del. Yet I am thankful'. If my heart were great,
'Twould burst' at this'. Captain' I'll be no more';
But I will eat', and drink', and sleep as soft'
As captain shall; simply the thing I am'

Shall make me live'. Who knows himself a braggart'
Let him fear this'.

Rust', sword' cool, blushes'! and, Delgrado', live!
Safest in shame! being fooled', by foolery thrive!
There's place and means' for every man alive'.

[Exit.

Exit.

SHAK FARE.

PART THIRD.

In this Part, a rhetorical notation is but sparingly introduced, as it is believed that the pupil may now, with advantage to himself, rely upon his own judg ment, with such aid as the teacher may think it judicious to give.

LESSON LXIX.

COLLOQUIAL POWERS OF DOCTOR FRANKLIN.

1. NEVER have I known such a fireside companion. Great as he was both as a statesman and philosopher, he never shone in a light more winning, than when he was seen in a domestic circle, It was once my good fortune to pass two or three weeks with him, at the house of a private gentleman, in the back part of Pennsylvania, and we were confined to the house during the whole of that time, by the unintermitting constancy and depth of the snows. But confinement could never be felt where Franklin was an inmate. His cheerfulness and his colloquial powers spread around him a perpetual spring.

2. When I speak, however, of his colloquial powers, I do not mean to awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell has given us of Johnson. The conversation of the latter, continually reminds one of the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war. It was, indeed, a perpetual contest for victory, or an arbitrary or despotic exaction of homage to his superior talents. It was strong, acute, prompt, splendid, and vociferous; as loud, stormy, and sublime, as those winds which he represents as shaking the Hebrides, and rocking the old castle which frowned on the dark rolling sea beneath.

3. But one gets tired of storms, however sublime they may be, and longs for the more orderly current of nature. Of Franklin, no one ever became tired. There was no ambition of eloquence, no effort to shine in anything which came from him. There was nothing which made any demand upon either your allegiance or your admiration. His manner was as unaffected as infancy. It was nature's self. He talked like an old patriarch; and his plainness and simplicity put you at once at your ease, and gave you the full and free possession and use of your faculties. His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light, without any adventitious aid. They only required a medium of vision like his pure and simple style, to exhibit to the highest advantage their native radiance and beauty.

4. His cheerfulness was unremitting. It seemed to be as much the effect of a systematic and salutary exercise of the mind, as of its superior organization. His wit was of the first order. It did not show itself merely in occasional corruscations; but without any effort or force on his part. It shed a constant stream of the purest light over the whole of his discourse. Whether in the company of commons or nobles, he was always the same plain man; always most perfectly at his ease, with his faculties in full play, and the full orbit of his genius forever clear and unclouded. 5. And then, the stores of his mind were inexhaustible. He had commenced life with an attention so vigilant, that nothing had escaped his observation; and a judgment so solid, that every incident was turned to advantage. His youth had not been wasted in idleness, nor overcast by intemperance. He had been, all his life, a close and deep reader, as well as thinker; and by the force of his own powers, had wrought up the raw materials which he had gathered from books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he had added a hundred-fold to their original value, and justly made them his own.

WIRT.

LESSON LXX.

THE SICK SCHOLAR.

1. SHORTLY after the schoolmaster had arranged the forms and taken his seat behind his desk, a small white-headed boy with a sun-burnt face, appeared at the door, and stopping there to make a rustic bow, came in and took his seat upon one of the forms. He then put an open book, astonishingly dog's-eared, upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began counting the marbles with which they were filled; displaying, in the expression of his face, a remarkable capacity of totally abstracting his mind from the spelling on which his eyes were fixed.

2. Soon afterward, another white-headed little boy came strag gling in, and after him, a red-headed lad, and then, one with a flaxen poll, until the forms were occupied by a dozen boys, or thereabouts, with heads of every color but gray, and ranging in their ages from four years old to fourteen years or more; for the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor, when he sat upon the form; and the eldest was a heavy, good-tempered fellow, about half a head taller than the schoolmaster.

3. At the top of the first form-the post of honor in the school —was the vacant place of the little sick scholar; and, at the head

of the row of pegs on which those who wore hats or caps were wont to hang them, one was empty. No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat or peg, but many a one looked from the empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered to his idle neighbor, behind his hand.

4. Then began the hum of conning over lessons and getting them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy game, and all the noise and drawl of school; and in the midst of the din sat the poor schoolmaster, vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the duties of the day, and to forget his little sick friend. But the tedium of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils-it was plain.

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5. None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, growing bolder with impunity, waxed louder and more daring; playing "odd-or-even" under the master's eye; eating apples openly and without rebuke; pinching each other, in sport or malice, without the least reserve; and cutting their initials in the very legs of his desk. The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson "off the book," looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to the master's elbow, and boldly cast his eye upon the page; the wag of the little troop squinted and made grimaces (at the smallest boy, of course), holding no book before his face, and his approving companions knew no constraint in their delight. If the master did chance to rouse himself, and seem alive to what was going on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eye met his, but wore a studious and deeply humble look; but the instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten times louder than before.

6. Oh! how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half meditated rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, and being wild boys and savages from that time forth. What rebellious thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place, beneath willow trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt-collar unbuttoned, and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning his flushed face with a spelling-book, wishing himself a whale, or a minnow, or a fly, or any thing but a boy at school, on that hot, broiling day.

7. Heat! ask that other boy, whose seat being nearest to the door, gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden, and driving his companions to madness, by dipping his face into the bucket of the well, and then rolling on the grass,-ask him, if there was ever such a day as that, when even the bees were

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