EVENING IN PARADISE. 87 When Adam thus to Eve: "Fair consort! the hour And of their doings God takes no account. THE SAME CONTINUED. To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned: "My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st Unargued I obey; so God ordains. God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more 88 THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND THE RAZOR-SELLER. When on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Milton. THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND THE RAZOR A FELLOW in the market-town, Most musical cried razors up and down, And offered twelve for eighteen pence. Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, And for the money quite a heap, As every man should buy, with cash and sense. A country bumpkin the great offer heard: And proudly to himself, in whispers said, "The rascal stole his razors, I suppose! No matter if the fellow be a knave, It sartinly will be a monstrous prize :" THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND THE RAZOR-SELLER. So, home the clown, with his good fortune, went, And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. 'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried- His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff, 66 Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and began― Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave, "Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm no knave; As for the razors you have bought, That they would shave." 89 "Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; "What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries; "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile-" to sell." Peter Pindar. KING PHILIP, PANDULPH, AND CONSTANCE. Pand. LADY, you utter madness, and not sorrow, Const. Thou art not holy, to bely me so; I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance, I was Geoffry's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: I am not mad;-I would to heaven, I were! For then, 'tis like, I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!— Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be delivered of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son; Or madly think a babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. Phil. Bind those tresses:-O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! up Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Const. (madly.) To England if you will, THE SAME CONTINUED. Phil. BIND up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds; and cry'd aloud, O, that these hands could so redeem my son, As they have given these hairs their liberty! KING PHILIP, PANDULPH, AND CONSTANCE. But now I envy at that liberty; And will again commit them to their bonds, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, There was not such a gracious creature born. And so he'll die; and rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 91 Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Const. He talks to me that never had a son. Phil. You are as fond of grief as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give you better comfort than you I will not keep this form upon my head do. (Throwing away her head-dress.) When there is such disorder in my wit. Shakspeare. |