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Col. Why then, sir. I can't stand this any longer. Seven hundred pounds! Double it, sir, and I'll be your cook for the rest of my life. Good morning, sir. (In an angry manner, advancing towards Rissolle, who retreats out of the door.) Seven hundred pounds! Seven hundred-mon col-o-nel-rascal.ANONYMOUS.

186.-SCENE FROM THE GLADIATOR.

The Camp of Spartacus. Enter Spartacus and Engmaüs. Spart. SEVEN thousand true! A handful, but enough, Being stanch and prudent, for the enterprise.

Desert me! Well, well, well.-Among the hills
Are many paths that may be safely trod;
Whereby we'll gain the sea, and so pass o'er
To safer Sicily.-Perhaps I spoke

Too roughly; but no matter.-Did you send
To hire the shipping of those pirates?

Well.

And all prepared to march at night-fall? Enomaüs,
Jo you not think they'll beat him?

Enom. I doubt it not;

Phasarius being a soldier but no leader.
Spart. Well, I care not:

We will to Rhegium.-Think you, Enomaüs,
I might not, while the prætor steals upon him,
Steal on the prætor, and so save the army?
Enom. Hang them, no. This brings Lucullus
On our seven thousand. Let the mutineers

Look to themselves,

Spart. Right, very right, right,

nomaüs ;

Let them look to themselves. He did desert me.

My father's son deserted me, and left me

Circled by foes. I say, 'tis very right.

Enom. Lo, you; a messenger!

Spart. From Phasarius!

Perhaps he is sorry.

Enter Jovius.

Enom. Chief, an embassy

From Crassus.

Spart. And what would Crassus with the Gladiator, The poor base slave and fugitive, Spartacus?

Speak, Roman: wherefore does thy master send
Thy gray hairs to the "Cut-throats" "

Jov. Brave rebel,

camp?

Spart. Why that's a better name than rogue or bondman, But in this camp I am call'd general.

Jov. Brave general; for though a rogue and bondman As you have said, I'll still allow you general,

As he that beats a consul surely is.

Spart. Say two, two consuls; and to that e'en add
A pro-consul, three prætors, and some generals.
Jov. Why this is no more than true.

Thracian?

Spart. Ay.

Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace Breeds valour up as rank as grass.

You are a barbarian.

Spart. Wherefore ?

Jov. Had you been born

"Tis pity

A Roman, you had won by this a triumph.
Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian;
For I can better teach the grace-begot
And heaven-supported masters of the earth,
How a mere dweller of a desert rock

Are you a

Can bow their crown'd heads to his chariot wheels.

Man is heaven's work, and beggars' brats may 'herit
A soul to mount them up the steeps of fortune,
With regal necks to be their stepping blocks.-

But come, what is thy message!

Jov. Julia, niece

O' the prætor, is thy captive.
Spart. Ay.

Jov. For whom

Is offer'd in exchange thy wife, Senona,

And thy young boy.

Spart. Tell thou the prætor, Roman,

The Thracian's wife is ransom'd.

Jov. How is that?

Spart. What ho, Senona!

Senona appears with the child at a tent door.

Ransom'd, and by the steel, from out the camp

Of slaughter'd Gellius.

Lo, she stands before you,

(Exit Senona.

Jov. This is sorcery 1

But name a ransome for the general's niece.
Spart. Have I not now the prætor on the hip
He would, in his extremity, have made

My wife his buckler of defence; perhaps

Have doom'd her to the scourge! but this is Roman.
Now the barbarian is instructed.

Look,

I hold the prætor by the heart; and he

Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers.

Jov. Men do not war on women.

Name her ransome

Spart. Men do not war on women! Look you.

One day I clomb upon the ridgy top

Of the cloud-piercing Homus, where, among
The eagles and the thunders, from that height,
I look'd upon the world-as far as where,
Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed
On his recoiling shores; and where dim Adria
In her blue bosom quench'd the fiery sphere.
Between those surges lay a land, might once
Have match'd Elysium, but Rome had made it
A Tartarus.-In my green youth I look'd
From the same frosty peak, where now I stood,
And then beheld the glory of those lands,
Where peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell
And singing with the reapers;

Since that glad day, Rome's conquerers had past
With withering armies there, and all was changed:
Peace had departed; howling war was there,
Cheer'd on by Roman hunters. Then, methought,
E'en as I look'd upon the alter'd scene,

Groans echo'd through the valleys, through which ran
Rivers of blood, like smoking Phlegethons;
Fires flash'd from burning villages, and famine
Shriek'd in the empty cornfields.

Women and children,

Robb'd of their sires and husbands, left to starve

These were the dwellers of the land! Say'st thou

Rome wars not then on women?

Jon. This is not to the matter.
Spart. Now, by Jove,

It is.

These things do Romans. But the earth
Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man,
Not Roman, but is Rome', extremest foe;

And such am I, sworn from that hour I saw

Those sights of horror, while the gods support me,
To wreak on Rome such havock as Rome wreaks,
Carnage and devastation, wo and ruin.

Why should I ransome, when I swear to slay ?—
Begone: this is my answer?

DR. BIRD.

187. THE MISER.

Lovegold and James.

Lovegold. WHERE have you been? I have wanted you above an hour.

James. Whom do you want, sir,-your coachman or your cook? for I am both one and t'other,

Love. I want my cook.

James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman; for you have had no great occasion for him since your last pair of horses were starved; but your cook, sir, shall wait upon you in an instant. (Puts off his coachman's greatcoat and appears as a cook.) Now, sir, I am ready for your commands.

Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper.

James. A supper, sir! I have not heard the word this half year; a dinner, indeed, now and then; but for a supper, I'm almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out. Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you provide a good supper.

James. That may be done with a good deal of money, sir. Love. Is the mischief in you? Always money! Can you say nothing else but money, money, money? My children, my servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing but money.

James. Well, şir; but how many will there be at table? Love. About eight or ten; but I will have a supper dressed but for eight; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough for ten.

James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup; at the other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens; on one side, a fillet of veal; on the other, a turkey, or rather a bustard, which may be had for about a guinea

for

Love. Zounds! is the fellow providing an entertainment my lord mayor and the court of aldermen ? James. Then a ragout—

Love. I'll have no ragout. Would you burst the good people, you dog?

James. Then pray, sir, say what will you have?

Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their stomachs let there be two good dishes of soup-maigre; a large suet-pudding; some dainty, fat pork-pie, very fat; a fine, small lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two artichokes. There; that's plenty and variety.

James. O, dear

Love. Plenty and variety.

James. But, sir, you must have some poultry.
Love. No; I'll have none.

James. Indeed, sir, you should.

Love. Well, then,-kill the old hen, for she has done laying.

James. Mercy! sir, how the folks will talk of it; indeed, people say enough of you already.

Love. Eh! why what do the people say, pray?

James. Ah, sir, if I could be assured you would not be angry.

Love. Not at all; for I'm always glad to hear what the world says of me.

James. Why, sir, since you will have it then, they make a jest of you everywhere; nay, of your servants, on your account. One says, you pick a quarrel with them quarterly, in order to find an excuse to pay them no wages. Love. Poh! poh!

James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing your own oats from your own horses.

Love. That must be a lie; for I never allow them any. James. In a word, you are the by-word everywhere; and you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous, stingy, scraping, old

Love. Get along, you impudent villain !

mes. Nay, sir, you said you wouldn't be angry.
we. Get out, you dog! you-

FIELDING.

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