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And cried, “Ye dead, you're a sluggardly crew,
Awake from your beds, bedabbled in dew;
If ever in life you a goblet would drain,
Come, dead men, join me, and drink again.”
Then loud through the night was the other's call,
“ Dear mischievous maidens, I summon you all.
'Tis ill in the grave, to lie pallid and cold,
Come frolick with me, as in times of old."
The churchyard groans, with a ponderous sound,
The graves are quaking and bursting around.
There's creaking and cracking, and rumbling and

rustling, There's breaking and scraping, and clattering and

The skeletons tall from their prison rise,
And strange is the sound of the night-wind's sighs :
Each man looks brave with a fleshless chin,
The maidens dance with the wickedest grin.
The youngsters shudder-high bristles their hair,
The dead are chasing the living pair;
They clatter behind-they grip—they snatch,
The living may run, but the dead can catch.
The men tug hard at the flagon bright,
That sparkles wide with the Rhine wine's light.
They bellow : “We dead, we obey your call,
And out from the grave we have tumbled all ;
In life, like you, we a goblet could drain,
And now we join you to drink again.'
The skeleton women speak dismally,
Dear mischievous maidens once were we;
'Tis ill in the grave to lie pallid and cold,
We'll frolick with you, as in times of old.”
Without a fiddle now dance the dead,
The clatter of bones makes music instead ;

While sounds from the distance the owlet's cry,
Loud croak the toads in the ferns that lie.
Until the cock has begun to crow,
Then off to their graves the dead folks go.
The youngsters lie in the white moonshine,
No more shall they dance, or tipple their wine.
Though many still rove the valley along,
And laugh as they carol a joyous song ;
But when they find that the churchyard is near,
They cross themselves thrice with pious fear;
And take good care to double their pace,
And leave the dead in their resting-place.

(By permission of the Author.)


Ben Jonson.

Captain Bobadil: A Braggadocio.

Master Matthew: A Simpleton.
SCENE—The mean and obscure lodging of BOBADIL.
BOBADIL discovered. Enter to him MASTER MATTHEW.
Mat. Save you, sir; save you, captain.

Bob. Gentle master Matthew! Is it you, sir ? Please you to sit down.

Mat. Thank you, good captain, you may see I am somewhat audacious.

Bob. Not so, sir, I was requested to supper last night by a sort of gallants, where you were wish'd for, and drunk to, I assure you.

Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain ?

Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred and others. Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman.

Mat. No haste, sir; 'tis very well.

Bob. Body o' me l-it was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet; I was but new risen, as you came : how passes the day abroad, sir ? you can tell.

Scene from Every Man in his Humour." 237

Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven : now, trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat and private!

Bob. Ay, sir; sit down,'I pray you. Mr. Matthew (in any case) possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging.

Mat. Who! ), sir ?-no.

Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited as some are.

Mat. True, captain, I conceive you.

Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me (except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so), I could not extend thus far. Mat. O Lord, sir, I resolve so.

Bob. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new book ha' you there? What! Go by, Hieronymo!

Mat. Ay, did you ever see it acted ? Is't not well

penn'd ?

Bob. Well-penn'd! I would fain see all the poets of these times pen such another play as that was ! they'll prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and devices, when (as I am a gentleman), read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth again.

Mat. Indeed; here are a number of fine speeches in this book. “O eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears !” There's a conceit!—fountains fraught with tears! “O life, no life, but lively form of death !" Another ! “O world, no world, but mass of public wrongs !" A third ! .“ Confused and fill'd with murder and misdeeds !” A fourth! O, the muses! Is't not excellent ? Is't not simply the best that ever you heard, captain ? Ha! how do like it?

Bob. 'Tis good.

Mat. “To thee, the purest object to my sense,
The most refined essence heaven covers,
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence

The happy state of turtle-billing lovers.
If they prove rough, unpolish’d, harsh, and rude,
Haste made the waste. Thus mildly I conclude.”
Bob. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?

[BOBADIL is making him ready all this while. Mat. This, sir ? a toy o' mine own, in my nonage ; the infancy of my muses! But when will you come and see my study ? Good faith, I can show you some very good things I have done of late. That boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks.

Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now use.

Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' the fashion, Master Well-bred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly. This other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful and gentleman-like; yet he condemned and cried it down for the most pyed and ridiculous that ever he saw.

Bob. Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't not ? Mat Ay, sir, he.

Bob. Hang him, rook, he! why, he has no more judgment than a malt-horse. By St. George, I wonder you'd lose a thought upon such an animal; the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay: he was born for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle ! He has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs -a good commodity for some smith to make hob-nails of.

Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, where he comes: he brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear.

Bob. How? he the bastinado? How came he by that word, trow?

Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I term’d it so for my more grace.

Scene from " Every Man in his Humour." 239

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Bob. That may be, for I was sure it was none of his word: but when ? when said he so ?

Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say : a young gallant, a friend of mine, told me so.

Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' twere my case now, I should send him a chartel presently. The bastinado! A most proper and sufficient dependance, warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither; you shall chartel him ; I'll show you a trick or two, you shall kill him with at pleasure; the first stoccata, if you will, by this air.

Mat. Indeed; you have absolute knowledge i' the mystery, I have heard, sir.

Bob. Of whom ?-of whom ha' you heard it, I beseech you ?

Mat. Troth I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utter-able skill, sir.

Bob. By heav'n, no not I; no skill i' the earth; some small rudiments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so: I have profest it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure you. Hostess, accommodate us with another bed-staff here quickly: lend us another bed-staff: the woman does not understand the words of action. Look you, sir, exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let your poniard maintain your defence, thus (give it the gentleman, and leave us); so, sir. Come on. Otwine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet, comely, gentleman-like guard; so, indifferent: hollow your body more, sir, thus; now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your distance, keep your due proportion of time. O, you disorder your point most irregularly!

Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir ?

Bob. O, out of measure ill !—a well-experienced hand would pass upon you at pleasure.

Mat. How mean you, sir, pass upon me?
Bob. Why, thus, sir (make a thrust at me); come

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