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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,

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Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign
Thy hand hath murdered him: I had Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and

mighty cause

To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to 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?

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended

By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant

To break within the bloody house of life; And, on the winking of authority,

To understand a law; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns

More upon humour than advised respect. Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.


Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,

I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of nine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of
Within this bosom never entered yet
The dreadful notion of a murderous


And you have slandered Nature in my form,
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,

K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt Is yet the cover of a fairer mind

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Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,

Throw this report on their incensed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my passion

Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not, but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient haste.
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

[Arthur, disguised as a sailor boy, tries to escape-He
leaps from the castle wall and is killed-His body
is discovered by several of the nobles.]
SCENE.-The Castle walls.

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down:

Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!There's few, or none, do know me; if they


This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised

me quite.

I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die and go, as die and stay.
[Leaps down.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :-
Heaven take my soul, and England keep
my bones!



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I honoured him, I loved him; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of
his eyes,

For villany is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seek- For I am stifled with the smell of sin.
ing you:

Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for

Sal. [Pointing to the body.] O, he is bold,
and blushes not at death:
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.

Must I rob the law?
[Drawing his sword.
Faul. Your sword is bright, sir; put it
up again.

Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin

Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire
us out.
[Exeunt Lords.

Faul. Here's a good world!-Knew you

of this fair work?

Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damned, Hubert.


Do but hear me, sir. Faul. Ha! I'll tell thee what;

Thou art stained as black-nay, nothing is

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By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as

I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
Big. Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a

Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare

My innocent life against an emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Do not prove me so; Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,

Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pem. Cut him to pieces!

Keep the peace, I say.

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

so black

thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this

Hub. Upon my soul-

If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair,
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest

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Faul. If thou but frown on me, or stir thy The life, the right and truth of all this foot,

Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime.


Is fled to heaven: and England now is left To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faul- The unowed interest of proud-swelling


Second a villain and a murderer?


Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty,

Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at

Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture


And comfort me with cold. I do not ask
you much,

I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ungrateful, you deny me that.
P. Henry. O that there were some virtue
in my tears,

That might relieve you!

K. John.
The salt in them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poison

Hold out this tempest.-Bear away that Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize

And follow me with speed; I'll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the



[The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected nobles of England, gives battle to John at St. Edmund's BuryThe King's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyed to Swinstead Abbey sick of a fever-Death of King John.]

SCENE.-Swinstead Abbey.

Enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in KING JOHN in a chair.

On unreprievable condemned blood.


Faul. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,

And spleen of speed to see your majesty! K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:

The tackle of my heart is cracked and burned;

And all the shrouds, wherewith my life
should sail,

Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
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;

It would not out at windows, nor at


There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
P. Henry.
K. John. Poisoned,―ill fare;-dead, for-
sook, cast off:

How fares your majesty?

And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their


Through my burned bosom, nor entreat the north

To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,

And module of confounded royalty.

Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward;

Where Heaven he knows how we shall an

swer him:

For, in a night, the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the Washes all unwarily
Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[The KING dies.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.

My liege my lord! but now a king, now thus!

P. Henry. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.

What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,

When this was now a king, and now is clay?


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 same 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 bottom 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

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