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EXAMPLE OF WIT AND RAILLERY.

Benedick and Beatrice are mutual friends, admirers, and finally lovers, but wittily affect to scorn love, and marriage, and each other.

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How many hath he
But how many hath

Beatrice-I pray you, is seignior Montanto returned from the wars, or no'? killed and eaten' in these wars? he killed? For, indeed, I promised to eat all of hisˇ killing.

Messenger-He hath done good service, lady, in these

wars.

Beat.-You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it he is a very valiant TRENCHER^-man; he hath an excellent stomach^.

Mess.-And a good soldier', too, lady.

Beat.-And a good soldier to a lady'; but what is he to a lord?

Mess.-A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honorable virtues'.

Beat.-It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed^ man but for the STUFFING^

Who is his companion' now?
NEW sworn brother^.

Mess.-Is it possible?

Well, we are all mortal!

He hath every month' a

Beat.-Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat^; it ever changes^ with the next block^.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your' books.

Beat.-No! an he were, I would burn my study.

* A name of ridicule for Benedick.

[BEATRICE and BENEDICK.]

Beatrice I wonder that you will still be talking, seignior Benedick; nobody marks you.

Benedick-What, my dear lady DISDAIN'!-are you

yet-living?

Beat.-Is it possible Disdain^ should die^, while she hath such meet food to feed it as seignior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain^, if you come in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat: but it is certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.

Beat.-A dear happiness to women; they would else have been troubled with a PERNICIOUS^ suitor. I thank God, and my coldˇ blood, Iˇ am of your humor for that^; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow^, than a man^ swear he loves^ me.

Bene.-God keep your ladyship still in that^ mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.

Beat.-Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.

Bene.-Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

Beat.-A BIRDˇ of my tongue is better than a BEAST^ of yours.

Bene. I would my HORSE had the speed of your tongue; and so good a continuer^.

Beat.-You always end with a jade's^ trick; I knowˇ you of old^.

(From

"Much Ado about Nothing," Shakespeare.)

LXXIII.—THE GRAVE.

1. There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found; They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.

2. The storm that wrecks the winter sky, No more disturbs their deep repose Than summer evening's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose.

3. I long to lay this painful head

And aching heart beneath the soil—
To slumber in that dreamless bed

From all my toil.

4. For misery stole me at my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild. I perish-oh, my mother Earth,

Take home thy child!

5. On thy dear lap these limbs reclined, Shall gently moulder into thee; Nor leave one wretched trace behind

Resembling me.

6. Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear; My pulse, my brain runs wild! I rave! Ah, who art thou whose voice I hear?

"I am the Grave!

7. "The Grave, that never spoke before, Hath found, at last, a tongue to chide:

O listen! I will speak no more—

Be silent, pride!

8. "Art thou a wretch, of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn

By fell despair?

9. "Do foul misdeeds of former times

Wring with remorse thy guilty breast?
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes

Murder thy rest?

10. "Lashed by the furies of the mind,

From wrath and vengeance wouldst thou flee? Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find

A friend in me!

11. "I charge thee, live-repent and pray!
In dust thine infamy deplore!
There yet is mercy. Go thy way,

And sin no more.

12. "Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be, Confess thy folly—kiss the rod, And in thy chastening sorrows see

The hand of God.

13. "A bruiséd reed He will not break:
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for His mercy's sake-
He wounds to heal!

14. "Humbled beneath His mighty hand, Prostrate His providence adore.

'Tis done!-Arise! He bids thee stand,
To fall no more.

15. "Now, traveler in the vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,

Through Time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight!

16. "There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep

Low in the ground,

17. "The soul, of origin divine,

God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day!

18. "The sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky: The soul, immortal as its sire,

Shall never die."

James Montgomery.

FOR PREPARATION.-I. Nearly one-half of the verses of the poem are omitted here. Compare this poem with "How Sleep the Brave?" (XII.), of Collins, and "Virtue" (XLV.), of Herbert.

II. Wrecks (rěks), chās'-ten-ing (chas'n-ing), trăv'-el-er, trăn'-sient (-shent), bruised (brụzd), pur-sūe', ŏr'-i-ġìn.

III. Meaning of un and en in unforgiven?—of d in freed?

IV. Remorse, "furies of the mind," meteor.

V. Explain the expression, "storm that wrecks the winter sky" (that strews the sky with broken clouds-cloud-wracks; as if he had said wracked-covered with wracks-the sky). (In the first six verses the heart-sick mourner expresses his weak pining for rest, and is checked by the apparition of the Grave itself, who speaks in the last verses.) Who is referred to as "its sire" (18)? What contrast in the last stanza?

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