ANT. I pray your grace retire-but first Command that libertine from the apartment! ST. PIER (sternly surveying alternately ANTONIO and FERRARDO). I go, your reverence, of mine own accord. [Exit, followed by FERRARDO, R. MAR. Father, what meant you by that word, which turned My very blood to ice? ANT. Behoves your highness To keep your eyes open upon your husband's honor MAR. HOW! ANT. Heaven alone Can judge the heart; men must decide by action ANT. A woman hath in every state Most need of circumspection; most of all That earth can utter will so purge the stream MAR. Is this to me? ANT. Women who play the wanton— ANT. Daughter! That look and tone of high command become MAR. No father, not my state They become me!-state greater-higher far, One who deserved that name I blushed to hear And thou, a reverend man, should'st blush to use- I would defy her in her breast to seat The heart that's throned in mine! If 'tis a crime MAR. No, father, Behoves us heed desires and thoughts! and let Appearances be what they may-you Shall never shape them so, that evil men Will not their own construction put upon them. ANT. He little knew the world. MAR. He knew what's better, Heaven and the smile of his own conscience! ANT. Given cause of scandal, daughter. MAR. How? ANT. By a preference so marked, it drew The eyes of all upon you. MAR. Evil eyes— Which see defect in frank and open deeds! The gentleman appeared mine old acquaintance- Began, methought, to cleave the sky, as there You are not now the commissary's ward, MAR. No, i' faith, the same! My skin is not of other texture-This, My hand, is just the hand I knew before ! If my glass tells the truth, the face and form My mind is not an inch the taller grown Than mellowing time hath made it in his course! 'Tis not the same I had when I did sit On some wild turret of my native hills, How have I wronged my lord ? ANT. By entertaining With marked and special preference, a man Until to-day a perfect stranger to thee. MAR. Go on. ANT. He is a libertine. MAR. Go on! ANT. A woman who has such a friend has naught To do with honest men! MAR. Go on! ANT. A wife Has done with friend-her heart, had it the room Save such as nature's earliest warrant have To house there. MAR. You are right in that! Go on. ANT. A court's a place where men have need to watch Whose whispers, were their import known to thee, MAR. SO! Go on. ANT. What if they reach thy consort? MAR. What! ANT. Ay, what! MAR. He'll spurn them as he ought-as I do spurn them. For shame! for shame! Me thou shouldst not arraign, But rather those who basely question me!. Father, the heart of innocence is bold! Tell me, how comes your Court to harbor one MARIANA enters unperceived and kneels to him, R. An air of such defiance MAR. Father! ANT. Daughter. MAR. I am thy daughter! O my father, bless me? MAR. Ere I break my fast To-morrow, father, I'll confess to thee, And thou shalt know how little or how much THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. [THE axiom of Byron that HOOD. "Truth is strange-stranger than fiction" Was never more strongly proven than by the history of the man whose eventful life has been chronicled in the glowing pages of Lytton Bulwer, and in the following graphic poem by the illustrious Thomas Hood. To declaim this matchless piece aright, the orator should vary his voice, attitude and gesture with every changing mood of the guilty tutor's mind. Nor is it only as a magnificent elocutionary exercise that this piece should be spoken: the terrible lesson it reads should be deeply pondered over: That no brilliant accomplishments, no vast amount of learning can compensate for the loss of integrity and inno cence; inasmuch as the guilt of Aram with his almost God-like intel lect rendered him an object of the pity if not the contempt of the most ignorant but honest boor, that ever "Whistled as he went for want of thought."] "TWAS in the prime of summer time, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran, and some that leapt, Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can: But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, So he leaned his head on his hands, and read At last he shut the ponderous tome; Then leaping on his feet upright, And lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! "My gentle lad, what is't you readRomance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable ?" The young boy gave an upward glance"It is the Death of Abel." The usher took six hasty strides, And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain. He told how murderers walked the earth For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain ! "And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme Wo, wo, unutterable wo Who spill life's sacred stream! |