XIV.

ON TIME.

LY, envious Time! till thou run out thy race;
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain !

For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,

And last of all thy greedy self consumed,

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss ;

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,

When everything that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,

Then, all this earthly grossness quit,

Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time!

J. Milton.

XV.

SONG.

IS sweet to hear the merry lark,

That bids a blithe good morrow;

But sweeter to hark in the twinkling dark, To the soothing song of sorrow.

Oh nightingale! What doth she ail?

And is she sad or jolly?

For ne'er on earth, was sound of mirth
So like to melancholy.

The merry lark, he soars on high,

No worldly thought o'ertakes him;
He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
And the daylight that awakes him.
As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay,

The nightingale is trilling ;
With feeling bliss, no less than his,
Her little heart is thrilling.

Yet, ever and anon, a sigh,

Peers through her lavish mirth ;
For the lark's bold song is of the sky,
And her's is of the earth.

By night and day, she tunes her lay,
To drive away all sorrow;

For bliss, alas! to-night must pass,
And woe may come to-morrow.

Hartley Coleridge.

K.

John.

XVI.

KING JOHN.

ACT III. SCENE III.

KING JOHN and HUBERT.

OME hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh

There is a soul counts thee her creditor,

And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,-
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,

But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,

Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to say,—but let it go :

The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
To give me audience :-if the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
And thou possesséd with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,

Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?

No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead :

Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day : In sooth, I would you were a little sick,

That I might sit all night and watch with you.

I warrant I love you more than you do me.

Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession of my

bosom.

Read here, young Arthur.

[Showing a paper. [Aside] How now, foolish rheum!

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!

I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth.

Hub.

And will you?

And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but

ache,

I knit my handkercher about your brows,

The best I had, a princess wrought it me,

And I did never ask it you again;

And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,

Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,

Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
Many a poor man's son would have lain still
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love

Hub.

XVII.

KING JOHN.

ACT IV. SCENE I.-A Room in a Castle.

Enter HUBERT and Executioners.

EAT me these irons hot; and look thou stand

Within the arras: when I strike my foot

Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,

And bind the boy which you shall find with me

Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Exec. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you look to't.

[Exeunt Executioners.

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.

Enter ARTHUR.

Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince, having so great a title To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth.

Mercy on me!

Methinks no body should be sad but I :
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,*
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long :
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me :
He is afraid of me and I of him :

* Christendom, the state of being a Christian.