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Always! I did not cheat them in the bargain.
I never held it worth my pains to hide
The bold all-grasping habit of my soul.

Count. Nay rather-thou hast ever shown thyself
A formidable man, without restraint;
Hast exercised the full prerogatives
Of thy impetuous nature, which had been
Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not thou,
Who hast still remained consistent with thyself,
But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee,
Intrusted such a power in hands they feared.
For, by the laws of spirit, in the right
Is every individual character

That acts in strict consistence with itself.
Self-contradiction is the only wrong.
Wert thou another being, then, when thou
Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire
And sword, and desolation, through the circles
Of Germany, the universal scourge,
Didst mock all ordinances of the empire.
Then was the time to break thee in, to curb
Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance.
But no! the Emperor felt no touch of conscience,
What served him pleased him, and without a murmur
He stamped his broad seal on these lawless deeds.
What at that time was right, because thou didst it
For him, to-day is all at once become
Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed
Against him. O most flimsy superstition!

Wal. I never saw it in this light before.
'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated
Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly.
And even this prince's mantle, which I wear,
I owe to what were services to him,

But most high misdemeanours 'gainst the empire.

Count. Then betwixt thee and him (confess it Friedland!) The point can be no more of right and duty, Only of power and the opportunity. That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder, Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing Throw thyself up into the chariot seat, Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest Of the now empty seat.

The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,

The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,
And tell thee, "Now's the time!" The starry courses
Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose?
The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings?
The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven,
Hast pictured on these walls, and all around thee
In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed
These seven presiding Lords of Destiny-
For toys? Is all this preparation nothing?
Is there no marrow in this hollow art,
That even to thyself it doth avail
Nothing, and has no influence over thee
In the great moment of decision ?-

Wal. Send Wrangel to me-1 will instantly
Dispatch three couriers.

It is his evil genius and mine.
Our evil genius! It chastises him
Through me, the instrument of his ambition;
And I expect no less, than that revenge
E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard.
Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope
To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime
Has, in the moment of its perpetration,
Its own avenging angel-dark misgiving,
An ominous sinking at the inmost heart.
He can no longer trust me. Then no longer
Can I retreat-so come that which must come-
Still destiny preserves its due relations,
The heart within us is its absolute




Ollapod. SIR CHARLES, I have the honour to be your slave. Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here-Sore throats were plenty; so were wood-cocks. Flush'd four couple, one morning, in a half-mile walk, from our town, to cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon, Sir Charles. Hope you come to sojourn. Shouldn't be always on the wing-that's being too flighty. Do you take, good sir, do you take?

Sir Charles. Oh, yes, I take. But, by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. Olla. My dear Sir Charles, I have now the honour to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out unexpected-pop on a sudden; like the going off of a field-piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy.

Sir C. Explain. Olla. Happening to be at home-rainy day-no going out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed-was busy behind the counter-You know my shop, Sir Charles-Galen's head over the door-new gilt him last week, by the by-looks as fresh as a pill.

Sir C. Well, no more on that head now-Proceed. Olla. On that head! That's very well, very well indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one-Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient; when, who should strut into the shop, but Lieutenant Grains, the brewer -sleek as a dray horse-in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turn'd up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle. I confess his figure struck me. I look'd at him, as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardour. Sir C. Inoculated! I hope your ardour was of a very favourable sort.

Olla. Ha ha! That's very well-very well, indeed!Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. We first talk'd of shooting-He knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him, the day before, I had kill'd six brace of birds-I thump'd on at the mortar-We then talk'd of physic-I told him, the day before, I had kill'd-lost, I mean-six brace of patients-I thump'd on at the mortar-eyeing him all the while; for he look'd mighty flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical, and military, both deal in death, you know-so, 'twas natural. Do you take, good sir? do you take?

Sir C. Take? Oh, nobody can miss.

Olla. He then talk'd of the corps itself: said it was sickly and if a professional person would administer to the health of the association-dose the men, and drench the horse-he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy.

Sir C. Well, you jump'd at the offer?

Olla. Jump'd! I jump'd over the counter-kick'd down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic, into the pocket of Lieuten

Hide something still, round which their tendrils cling
With a close grasp, unknown to those who dress
Their love in smiles. And such wert thou to me!
The all which taught me that my soul was cast
In nature's mould. And I must now hold on
My desolate course alone !-Why, be it thus!
He that doth guide a nation's star, should dwell
High o'er the clouds in regal solitude,
Sufficient to himself.


Yet, on that summit,
When with her bright wings glory shadows thee,
Forget not him who coldly sleeps beneath,
Yet might have soared as high!

No, fear thou not !
The canker-worm


"Oh! not thus

I would not thus be thought of."
Let me deem
Again that thou art base!-for thy bright looks,
Thy glorious mien of fearlessness and truth,
Then would not haunt me as th' avenging powers
Followed the parricide. Farewell, farewell!
I have no tears. Oh! thus thy mother looked,
When, with a sad, yet half-triumphant smile,
All radiant with deep meaning, from her death-bed
She gave thee to my arms.


Now death has lost
His sting, since thou believ'st me innocent.

Pro. Thou innocent!-Am I thy murderer then?
Away! I tell thee thou hast made my name
A scorn to men!-No! I will not forgive thee;
A traitor!-What! the blood of Procida
Filling a traitor's veins !-Let the earth drink it;
Thou wouldst receive our foes!—but they shall meet
From thy perfidious lips a welcome, cold

As death can make it.

Rai. Yet hear me !

E'en shame look fair.


Thou❜lt be remembered long.
O' th' heart is ne'er forgotten.

No! thou'rt skill'd to make Why should I linger thus ? [Going-he turns back for a moment. If there be aught-if aught-for which thou need'st Forgiveness-not of me, but that dread power From whom no heart is veil'd-delay thou not Thy prayer :-Time hurries on.

I am prepared.


[Exit Procida.

Pro. 'Tis well. Rai. Men talk of torture !-Can they wreak Upon the sensitive and shrinking frame, Half the mind bears, and lives?-My spirit feels Bewilder'd; on its powers this twilight gloom Hangs like a weight of earth. It should be morn; Why, then, perchance, a beam of Heaven's bright sun Hath pierced, ere now, the grating of my dungeon, Telling of hope and mercy!


DAVID.....R. B. Sheridan.


David. THEN, by the mass, sir, I would do no such thing! ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom should make me fight, when I wa'n't so minded. Oons! what will the old lady say, when she hears o't?

Acres. But my honour, David, my honour! I must be very careful of my honour.

Dav. Ay, by the mass! and I would be very careful of it, and I think in return my honour couldn't do less than to be very careful of me.

Acr. Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever risk the loss of his honour!

Dav. I say, then, it would but be civil in honour never to risk the loss of a gentleman. Lookye, master, this honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend; ay, truly, a very courtier-like servant. Put the case, I was a gentleman (which, I thank my stars, no one can say of me ;) well-my honour makes me quarrel with another gentleman of my acquaintance. So, we fight. (Pleasant enough that.) Boh! I kill him; (the more's my luck.) Now, pray, who gets the profit of it? Why, my honour. But put the case, that he kills me! by the mass! I go to the worms, and my honour whips over to

my enemy.

Acr. No, David, in that case! odds, crowns and laurels ! your honour follows you to the grave!

Dav. Now, that's just the place where I could make a shift to do without it.

Acr. Zounds! David, you are a coward! It doesn't become my valour to listen to you. What, shall 1 disgrace my ancestors? think of that, David; think what it would be to disgrace my ancestors!

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