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Who, with his shears and measure in his | And those thy fears might have wrought hand,
fears in me: Standing on slippers, (which his nimble But thou didst understand me by my signs, haste
And didst in signs again parley with sin; Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart conTold of a many thousand warlike French That were
embattailed and ranked in And consequently thy rude hand to act Kent:
The deed, which both our tongues held Another lean unwashed artificer
vile to name. Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. Out of my sight, and never see me more! K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me My nobles leave me ; and my state is with these fears?
braved, Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign death?
powers : Thy hand hath murdered him: I had Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, mighty cause
This kingdom, this confine of blood and To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to breath, kill him.
Hostility and civic tumult reigns Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you Between my conscience and my cousin's not provoke me?
death. K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be Hub. Arm you against your other eneattended
mies, By slaves, that take their humours for a I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. warrant
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of inine To break within the bloody house of life; Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, And, on the winking of authority,
Not painted with the crimson spots of To understand a law; to know the meaning blood. Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it Within this bosom never entered yet frowns
The dreadful notion of a murderous More upon humour than advised respect. thought; Hub. Here is your hand and seal for And you have slandered Nature in my form, what I did.
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, K. John. 0, when the last account 'twixt Is yet the cover of a fairer mind heaven and earth
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. Is to be made, then shall this hand and K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste seal
thee to the peers, Witness against us to damnation !
Throw this report on their incensed rage, TIow oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, And make them tame to their obedience ! Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou Forgive the comment that my passion been by,
made A fellow by the hand of nature marked, Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, Quoted and signed to do a deed of shame, And foul imaginary eyes of blood This murder had not come into my mind : Presented thee more hideous than thou art. But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, 0, answer not, but to my closet bring Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
The angry lords, with all expedient haste. Apt, liable to be employed in danger, I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
[Exeunt. And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. (Arthur, disguised as a sailor boy, tries to escape-He
leaps from the castle wall and is killed-flis body Huh. My lord,
is discovered by several of the nobles.] K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,
SCENE.---The Castle walls. When I spake darkly what I purposed; Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, leap down : And bid me tell my tale in express words; Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!Deep shame had struck me dumb, made There's few, or none, do know me; if they me break off,
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. me quite.
Who killed this prince? I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him If I get down, and do not break my limbs, well: I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : I honoured him, I loved him; and will weep As good to die and go, as die and stay. My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
[Leaps down. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :-Heaven take my soul, and England keep For villany is not without such rheum; my bones!
(Dies. And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor Enter HUBERT.
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house; Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seek- For I am stified with the smell of sin. ing you:
Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for there! you.
Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire Sal. (Pointing to the body. ] O, he is bold, us out.
(Exeunt Lords. and blushes not at death:
Faul. Here's a good world!
-Knew you Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
of this fair work? Hub. I am no villain,
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Sal.
Must I rob the law? Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
[Drawing his sword. | Art thou damned, Hubert. Faul. Your sword is bright, sir; put it Hub.
Do but hear me, sir. up again,
Faul. Ha ! I'll tell thee what; Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a mur- Thou art stained as black-nay, nothing is derer's skin.
so black Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this back, I say ;
child. By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as Hub. Upon my soulyours :
If thou didst but consent I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, To this most cruel act, do but despair, Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; And, if thou want’st a cord, the smallest Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
thread Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. That ever spider twisted from her womb Big. Out, dunghill ! darest thou brave a Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be nobleman?
A beam to hang thee on: or wouldst thou Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare drown thyself, defend
Put but a little water in a spoon, My innocent life against an emperor.
And it shall be as all the ocean, Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Enough to stifle such a villain up. -Hub.
Do not prove me so; | I do suspect thee very grievously. Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks Hub. I left him well. false,
Faul. Go, bear him in thine arms.Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. I am amazed, methinks; and lose my way Pem. Cut him to pieces!
Among the thorns and dangers of this
world. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faul. How easy dost thou take all England up! conbridge.
From forth this morsel of dead royalty, Faul. If thou but frown on me, or stir thy The life, the right and truth of all this foot,
realm Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, Is fled to heaven: and England now is left I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword To tug and scramble, and to part by the betime.
teeth Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faul. The unowed interest of proud-swelling conbridge ?
state. Second a villain and a murderer?
Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, And comfort me with cold. I do not ask And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
you much, Now powers from home, and discontents at I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, home,
And so ungrateful, you deny me that. Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits P. Henry. O that there were some virtue (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
in my tears, The imminent decay of wrested pomp. That might relieve you! Now happy he whose cloak and cincture K. John. The salt in them is hot. can
Within me is a hell; and there the poison Hold out this tempest.-Bear away that Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize child,
On unreprievable condemned blood.
Enter FAULCONBRIDGE. And heaven itself doth frown upon the Faul. O, I am scalded with my violent land.
And spleen of speed to see your majesty!
K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set [The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected nobles of Eng
land, gives battle to John at St. Edmund's BuryThe King's troops are repulsed, and John is con- The tackle of my heart is cracked and veyed to Swinstead Abbey sick of a fever-Death of
burned; King John.]
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life SCENE. — Swinstead Abbey.
Are turned to one thread, one little hair: Enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, in KING JOHN in a chair.
Which holds but till thy news be uttered; K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath And then all this thou seest is but a clod, elbow-room;
And module of confounded royalty. It would not out at windows, nor at Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherdoors.
ward; There is so hot a summer in my bosom, Where Heaven he knows how we shall an. That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
swer him : I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen For, in a night, the best part of my power, Upon a parchment, and against this fire As I upon advantage did remove, Do I shrink up.
Were in the Washes all unwarily P. Henry. How fares your majesty ? Devoured by the unexpected flood. K. John. Poisoned,-ill fare;-dead, for
(The King dies. sook, cast off:
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as And none of you will bid the winter come, dead an ear. To thrust bis icy fingers in my maw; My liege! my lord ! but now a king, now Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their thus! course
P. Henry. Even so must I run on, and Through my burned bosom, nor entreat the even so stop. north
What surety of the world, what hope, what To make his bleak winds kiss my parched stay, lips,
When this was now a king, and now is clay?
DESCRIPTION OF CANTON.
The recently arrived stranger naturally manifests surprise and incredulity on being told that the estimated population of Canton exceeds a million. As soon, however, as he visits the close streets, with their dense population and busy wayfarers, huddled together into lanes from five to nine feet wide, where Europeans could scarcely inhale the breath of life, the greatness of the number no longer appears incredible. After the first feelings of novelty have passed away, disappointment, rather than admiration, occupies the mind. After leaving the open space before the factories, we behold an endless succession of narrow avenues, scarcely deserving the name of streets.
As the visitor pursues his course, narrow lanes still continue to succeed each other, and the conviction is gradually impressed on the mind that such is the general character of the streets of the city. Along these, busy traders, mechanics, barbers, venders, and porters, make their way; while occasionally the noisy abrupt tones of vociferating coolies remind the traveller that some materials of bulky dimensions are on their transit, and suggest the expediency of keeping at a distance, to avoid collision.
Now and then the monotony of the scene is relieved by some portly mandarin, or merchant of the higher class, borne in a sedan-chair on the shoulders of two, or sometimes four men. Yet, with all this hurry and din, there seldom occurs any accident or interruption of good nature.
On the river the same order and regularity prevail. Though there are probably not fewer than 200,000 denizens of the river, whose hereditary domains are the watery element that supports their little dwelling, yet harmony and good feeling are conspicuous in the accommodating manner with which they make way for each other. These aquatic tribes of the human species show a most philosophic spirit of equanimity, and contrive, in this way, to strip daily life of many of its little troubles; while the fortitude and patience with which the occasional injury or destruction of their boat is borne is remarkable.
To return from the wide expanse of the river-population to the streets in the suburbs, the samne spirit of contented adaptation to external things is everywhere observable; and it is difficult which to regard with most surprise—the narrow abodes of the one, or the little boats which serve as family residences to the other. There is something of romance in the effect of Chinese streets. On either side are shops, decked out with native wares, furniture and manufactures of various kinds. These are adorned by pillar sign-boards, rising perpendicularly, and inscribed from top to bottoin with the various kinds of saleable articles which may be had within. Native artists seem to have lavished their ingenuity on several of these inscriptions, in order to give, by their caligraphy, some idea of the superiority of the commodities for sale. Many of these sign-boards contain some fictitious emblem, adopted as the name of the shop-similar to the practice prevalent in London two centuries ago.
On entering, the proprietor, with his assistants or partners, welcomes a foreigner with sundry salutations; sometimes advancing to shake hands, and endeavouring to make the most of his scanty knowledge of English. They will show their goods with the utmost patience, and evince nothing of disappointment if, after gratifying his curiosity, he depart without purchasing. At a distance from the factories, where the sight of a foreigner is a rarity, crowds of idlers, from fifty to a hundred, rapidly gather round the shop, and frequent embarrassment ensues from an imperfect knowledge of the colloquial medium. In these parts the shopkeepers know nothing but their own language, are more moderate in their politeness, and, as a compensation, put a less price on their wares. To write one's name in Chinese characters is a sure method of enhancing their good favour.
Sometimes no fewer than eight or ten blind beggars find their way into a shop, and there they remain, singing a melancholy, dirge-like strain, and most perseveringly beating together two pieces of wood, till the weary shopman at length takes compas