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Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul :
Fub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh?
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills !
Fub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan By such a loss.
Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you !
Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus.
of nature, The fond embraces and repeated blessings,
drew from him in your last farewell ? Still must I cherish the dear, sad remembrance, At once to torture, and to please my soul. The good old King at parting wrung my hand, (His eyes brim full of tears) then sighing cry'd, Pr’ythe be careful of my son !-His grief Swelld up so high, he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas, the story melts away my soul. That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty which I owe him?
Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.
Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy direction :
Syph. Alas, my prince, I'll guide you to your safety.
Syph. Rather say your love.
Fub. Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper; Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ?
Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love, :'Tis easy to divert and break its force: Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Light up another flame, and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Have faces fush'd with more exalted charms ; The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks : Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North.
Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, The tincture of the skin that I admire. Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!) But still the lovely maid improves her charms, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, And sanctity of manners. Cato's soul Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, While winning mildness and attractive smiles Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace Soften the rigour of her father's virtues. Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise !
Brak. WHY looks your Grace so heavily to-day?
Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
Brak. What was your dream, my Lord ? I pray you
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tow'r, And was embark”d to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Glo'ster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befali'n us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord, Lord, methought what pain it was to drown!
eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?
Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life; O then began the tempest to my soul : I pass’d, methought, the melancholy food, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Into the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger-soul, Was my great father-in-law, renown's Warwick, Who cry'd aloud" What scourge for perjury. Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanish’d. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud “ Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewsbury; Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !". With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Inviron'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hedious cries, that with the very noise I trembling wak’d; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell : Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, Lord, that it affrighted you ; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. Ah, Brakenbury, I have done those things That now gives evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me ! O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone ; O spare iny guiltless wife, and my poor children ! I prythe, Brakenbury, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Lord Marmion's flight from Tantallon ; a fiction, beau.
tifully told by WALTER Scott, ESQ.
And Douglas gave a guide:
Though something I might plain,” he said,
And noble Earl, receive my hand.”
“My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
And“ this to me!” he said