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Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us-
Jul. Why, then, 'tis clear. That I was ever born !—[Aside.] What are you, sir? Duke. (Rises.) I am an honest man- -that
may content you! Young, nor ill-favour'd-Should not that content you? I am your husband, and that must content you. Jul. I will
[Going, L. Duke. You are at home, already. [Staying her.
Jul. I'll not endure it !-But remember thisDuke, or no duke, I'll be a duchess, sir ! [Crosses, L.
Duke. A duchess! You shall be a queen,—to all Who, by the courtesy, will call you so.
Jul. And I will have attendance !
Duke. So you shall,
Jul. To wait upon myself! Must I bear this?
Duke. And if you should, 'twould grow again.-
Jul. You will find, then,
Duke. I think 'twill happen, wife.
Jul. What! Rub and scrub
Duke. Those taper fingers
victuals (If there be any)?-Oh! I could go mad! [Crosses, L. Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps
neatly; Wait, like an echo, till you're spoken to
Jul. Or like a clock, talk only once an hour?
Duke. Or like a dial; for that quietly
Jul. A blessing !
Duke. When they talk of you and me,
Jul. Shall we?
Duke. Wondrous happy!
Jul. I'll make a devil.
devil. Duke. Oh, no. We'll have no devils. Jul. I'll not bear it!
father's ! Duke. Gently; you forget You are a perfect stranger to the road.
Jul. My wrongs will find a way, or make one.
Jul. What, confine me?
Duke. Nay, not so ;
Jul. And if I break them,
Duke. Beat you!
I'll to my
The man that lays his hand upon a woman,
way of kindness, is a wretch Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward. I'll talk to you, lady, but not beat you.
Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father,
Duke. You will find them
bed Jul. Your fortune!
Duke. Peace !--No fooling, idle woman! Beneath th' attesting eye of Heaven I've sworn To love, to honour, cherish, and protect you. No human power can part us. What remains, then? To fret, and worry, and torment each other, And give a keener edge to our hard fate By sharp upbraidings, and perpetual jars ?Or, like a loving and a patient pair, (Waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend Upon their daily labour for support) To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment ? Now to your chamber—write whate'er you please, But pause before you stain the spotless paper, With words that may inflame, but cannot heal !
Jul. Why, what a patient worm you take me for!
Duke. I took you for a wife; and, ere I've done,
Jul. You shall know me
Duke. Why, let the flood rage on! There is no tide in woman's wildest passion But hath an ebb.—I've broke the ice, however.Write to her father !-She may write a folioBut if she send it !-'Twill divert her spleen,The flow of ink may save her blood-letting, Perchance she may have fits !—They are seldom mortal, Save when the doctor's sent for. Though I have heard some husbands say, and wisely, A woman's honour is her safest guard, Yet there's some virtue in a lock and key.
[Goes of to lock door-returns. So thus begins our honeymoon.—'Tis well ! For the first fortnight, ruder than March winds, She'll blow a hurricane. The next, perhaps, Like April, she may wear a changeful face Of storm and sunshine :--and, when that is past, She will break glorious as unclouded May; And where the thorns grew bare, the spreading blossoms Meet with no lagging frost to kill their sweetness.Whilst others,—for a month's delirious joy, Buy a dull age of penance, we, more wisely, Taste first the wholesome bitter of the cup, That after to the very lees shall relish; And to the close of this frail life prolong The pure delights of a well-governed marriage. [Exit, R.
THE MUSIC GRINDERS.
O. W. HOLMES.
THERE are three
in which men take
from his purse,
hard it is to tell
To make a body curse.
You're riding out some pleasant day,
And counting up your gains ; A fellow jumps from out a bush,
And takes your horse's reins, Another hints some words about A bullet in
It's hard to meet such pressing friends
In such a lonely spot;
But harder to be shot;
Though you would rather not.
Some filthy creature begs, You'll hear about the cannon ball
That carried off his pegs, And says it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.
He tells you of his starving wife,
His children to be fed, Poor little, lovely innocents,
All clamorous for breadAnd so you kindly help to put
A bachelor to bed.
You're sitting on your window seat
Beneath a cloudless moon :
The semblance of a tune;
To drown a cracked bassoon.
And nearer, nearer still, the tide
Of music seems to come, There's something like a human voice
And something like a drum;