Alb. Before the sun. Tell. Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed When it is time to rise. Be like the sun. Alb. What you would have me like, I'll be like, As far as will to labor joined can make me. Tell. Well said, my boy! Knelt you when you got up To-day? Alb. I did; and do so every day. Tell. I know you do! And think you, when you kneel, To whom you kneel? To Him who made me, father. Alb. And in whose name? For me and all men, that all men and I Tell. That's right. Remember that, my son: 'Tis more than friends or fortune; clothing, food; All things on earth; yea, life itself!-It is To live, when these are gone, where they are nought— Alb. I will. Tell. I'm glad you value what you're taught. That is the lesson of content, my son; He who finds which, has all-who misses, nothing. Tell. A thing, the good Alone can profit by. But go, Albert, Reach thy cap and wallet, and thy mountain staff. Don't keep me waiting. (Tell paces the stage in thought. Alh. I am ready, father. Tell. (Taking Albert by the hand.) (Exit Albert.) Re-enter Albert.) Now mark me, Albert! Carest thou for The ice-field, or the hail flaw? And it doth burst around thee? Thou must travel Alb. I'm ready; say all night again. Tell. The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach Mount Faigel by the dawn. Alb. Not sooner shall The dawn be there than I. Alb. Heaven speeding me. Tell. Show me thy staff. Art sure Of the point? I think 'tis loose. No-stay! "Twill do. Do not trust the snow! Caution is speed when danger's to be passed. "Tis well there is a moon to-night. You're sure of the track? That leg's untied; stoop down and fasten it. You know the point where you must round the cliff? Exit Albert.) Tell. Thy belt is slack-draw it tight. Its very storms. I have sat at midnight The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge SELECTION XXIV. PRINCE ARTHUR-HUBERT-ATTENDANTS.- -Shakspeare. Hubert. Heat 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, First Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to it.— (Exeunt Attendants.) I have to say with you. Young lad, come forth; (Enter Arthur.) Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert. Hub. 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 nobody should be sad but I: Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son? Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate That I might sit all night, and watch with you. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now foolish rheum! (Aside.) Turning dispiteous torture out the door! I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.- Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Arth. And will you? Hab. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And with my hand at midnight held your head, If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it: Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron? (Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.) Do as I bid you. Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of the bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Hub. Go stand within; let me alone with him. First Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. (Exeunt Attendants.) Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :— Let him come back, that his compassion may Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. Oh heaven! that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue So I may keep mine eyes; Oh, spare mine eyes, Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with griefBeing create for comfort-to be used In undeserved extremes: See else yourself: There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends,— Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owns ; |