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And came again together on the king
“Oh! who would fight and march and countermarch,
life. “Oh! who would cast and balance at a desk, Perch'd like a crow upon a three-legg'd stool, Till all his juice is dried, and all his joints Are full of chalk ? but let me live
life. “Who'd serve the state ? for if I carved my name Upon the cliffs that guard my native land, I might as well have traced it in the sands ; The sea wastes all : but let me live
life. “ Oh! who would love ? I woo'd a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind, And all
my heart turn’d from her, as a thorn Turns from the sea : but let me live
song, and I replied with mine : I found it in a volume, all of songs,
Knock'd down to me, when old Sir Robert's pride,
Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, sleep, and dream of me :
Sleep, Ellen, folded in Emilia's arm ;
“Sleep, breathing health and peace upon her breast : Sleep, breathing love and trust against her lip; I go to-night : I come to-morrow morn.
“I go, but I return : I would I were
So sang we each to either, Francis Hale,
In crescent, dimly rain'd about the leaf
WALKING TO THE MAIL.
John. I'm glad I walk’d. How fresh the meadows look Above the river, and, but a month ago, The whole hill-side was redder than a fox. Is yon plantation where this byway joins The turnpike ? James. Yes.
John. And when does this come by ?
James. The mail ?
At one o'clock.
John. What is it now?
James. A quarter to.
John. Whose house is that I see
Beyond the watermills ?
James. Sir Edward Head's :
But he 's abroad : the place is to be sold.
John. Oh, his. He was not broken.
James. No, sir, he,
Vex'd with a morbid devil in his blood
That veil'd the world with jaundice, hid his face
James. Nay, who knows ? he's here and there.
James. You saw the man but yesterday : He pick'd the pebble from your horse's foot. His house was haunted by a jolly ghost That rummaged like a rat. No servant staid : The farmer vext packs up his beds and chairs, And all his household stuff; and with his boy Betwixt his knees, his wife upon the tilt, Sets forth, and meets a friend who hails him, " What! You 're flitting !" “Yes, we're flitting,” says the ghost, (For they had pack’d the thing among the beds,)