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Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Yet all experience is an arch where thro'
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Of common duties, decent not to fail
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work. I mine. There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It be that the gulfs will wash us down;
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
THE HEAD AND THE HEART.
THE head is stately, calm, and wise,
And bears a princely part;
And down below in secret lies
The lordly head that sits above,
The head, erect, serene, and cool,
And from the head, as from the higher,
Yet each is best when both unite
What were the heat without the light?
The light, without the heat?
J. G. SAXE.
DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX, ETC.
During the time that France was divided into dukedoms, there reigned in one of the provinces a usurper named Frederic, who had deposed and banished his elder brother, the lawful duke. The latter, thus driven from his dominions, retired with a few faithful followers to the forest of Arden. He had an only daughter named Rosalind, whom the usurper still retained in his court as a companion to his own daughter, Celia; but after a time it was discovered that Rosalind was enamored of Orlando, a son of Sir Rowland de Boys, who had been a strong adherent of her father. The knowledge of the love existing between these two young people so incensed Frederic, that he ordered Rosalind instantly to follow her father into banishment. When Celia, who was greatly attached to her cousin, found that she could neither by prayers nor tears prevail upon her father to let Rosalind remain, she resolved to accompany her cousin in exile, and accordingly stole away from her father's palace by night. For purposes of greater safety, and in order to avoid recognition, Rosalind attired herself in the garb of a young countryman, while Celia wore the dress of a maiden peasant.
Meantime Orlando had fled to this same forest, in order to escape the enmity of a wicked and jealous brother who was seeking his life. Upon entering the forest the two princesses were much surprised to find the name of Rosalind, together with love sonnets, carved upon the bark of many of the trees, and while wondering at this they espied Orlando, whom they instantly recognized, but who failed to discover them in their strange attire. Rosalind asserted that she would like to meet the youth who could have written the sonnets, when Orlando confessed that he was the writer, whereupon Rosalind declared that she would cure him of his love by making him ashamed of it; and the plan proposed was that Orlando was to feign to woo Rosalind, whom he supposes is the youth Ganymede, in the same manner that he would do were it his own Rosalind.
The Scene opens with the entrance of ORLANDO.
Orlando. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! I come within an hour of my promise.
Rosalind.-Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Orlando.-Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Rosalind.-Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
Orlando.-Of a snail?
Rosalind.-Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head,-a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him.
Rosalind. Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. Orlando.-Virtue is no horn maker; and my Rosalind
And I am your Rosalind.
Celia. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
Rosalind.-Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
Orlando. I would kiss before I spoke.
Rosalind.-Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking-God warn us!— matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.