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CCXXV.

MACBETH.

ACT V. SCENE V.-Dunsinane. Within the Castle.

Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum and colours.

Mach. ANG out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still 'They come :' our castle's

strength

Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie

Till famine and the ague eat them up :

Were they not forced* with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,

And beat them backward home.

[A cry of women within. What is that noise?

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. Mach. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cooled To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir

[Exit

As life were in 't: I have supped full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.

Re-enter SEYTON.

Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

* Forced, reinforced.

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle !
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the
And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

stage

Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Mess. Gracious my lord,

I should report that which I say I saw,

But know not how to do it.

Macb.

Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I looked toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.

Macb.

Liar and slave!

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming;

I say, a moving grove.

Macb.

If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,

Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,

I care not if thou dost for me as much.

I pull in resolution, and begin

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend

That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane :' and now a wood

Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear;

There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be aweary of the sun,

And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

W. Shakespeare.

CCXXVI.

MEARY ANN'S CHILD.

(IN THE DORSET DIALECT.)

EARY ANN wer alwone, wi' her beäby in eärms
In her house wi' the trees over head,

Vor her husband wer out, in the night an' the

In his business, a-tweilen1 vor bread.

An' she, as the wind in the elems did roar,

Did greivy2 vor Robert, all night out o' door.

[storms,

An' her kinsvo❜k, an' neighbours did zay ov her chile, (Under the high elem tree)

That a prettier never did babble, or smile
Up a top ov a proud mother's knee.

An' his mother did toss en, an' kiss en, an' call
En her darlèn, an' life, an' her hope, an' her all.

But she vound, in the evenèn, the chile werden1 well, (Under the dark elem tree,)

An' she thought she could gi'e all the worold to tell
Vor a truth, what his ailèn mid be:

An' she thought o' en last in her prayers at night,
An' she looked at en last, as she put out the light.

But she vound en grow worse in the dead o' the night (Under the dark elem tree,)

An' she pressed en ageän her warm bosom so tight,
An' she rocked en so sorrowfully.

An' there lay, a-neslèn, the poor little bwoy,
Till his struggles grew weak, an' his cries died awoy.

An' the moon wer a-sheenen down into the pleäce
(Under the dark elem tree,)

An' his mother could zee that his lips, an' his feäce
Wer as white as cleän axan3 could be.

1 A-tweilen, a-toiling.

Greivy, keep on grieving.

En, objective case of he. • Werden, was not. 5 Axan, ashes, old Saxon-English form.

An' her tongue wer a-tied, an' her still heart did zwell Till her senses come back, wi the virst tears that vell.

Nevermwore can she veel his warm feäce on her breast, (Under the green elem tree,)

Vor his eyes be a-shut, an' his hands be at rest,
An he's now vrom his païn a-set free :

Vor his soul we do know, is to heaven a-vled,

Where noo païn is a-known, an noo tears be a-shed.

CCXXVII.

W. Barnes.

DEEDS NOT WORDS.

RUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control
That o'er thee swell and throng;

They will condense within thy soul,
And change to purpose strong.

But he, who lets his feelings run
In soft luxurious flow,

Shrinks when hard service must be done,
And faints at every woe.

Faith's meanest deed more favour bears,
Where hearts and wills are weighed,
Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
Which bloom their hour and fade.

J. H. Newman.

CCXXVIII.

THE FOUNT OF HONOUR.

E to my happy hymns of praise
Not only woman's graces stir;
Myself I never seem to raise

So much as when I honour her;

For while my songs so various run,
There lives before my constant mind
An image, time-endeared, of one

Who is to me all womankind :
Honoria call her: she confers

Bright honour when she breathes my name ;
Birth's blazoned patents, shown with her's,
Are falsified and put to shame;
The fount of honour is her smile;

(I speak but as I feel and think)
Yet pride consumes me not the while
I thence, with thirst unsated, drink ;
For as a queen, who may not find

Her peer in all the common earth,
Submits her meek and royal mind,
Espousing one of subject birth,
All barter of like gain above,

She raised me to her noble place,
And made my lordship of her love
The humbling gift of her free grace.

C. Patmore.

CCXXIX.

THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT.

HE stream was smooth as glass, we said: “Arise and let's away;"

The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay;

And spread the sail, and strong the oar, gaily we took

our way.

When shall the sandy bar be crossed? When shall we find the bay.

The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted [rains,

plains,

The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy

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