SIR WALTER. I should have ta'en you else for other two, Well, my good cause, and my good conscience, boy, I came to seek in the forest. Shall be for sons to me, if John prove false. SIMON. I would not wrong my brother by surmise: No prodigal in his nature, but affecting SIR WALTER. Fair death shall be my doom, and foul life his. SIMON. "T is said, that Robert Earl of Huntingdon, SIR WALTER. Such bandits did in England erst abound, When polity was young. I have read of the pranks A perilous man. SIMON. SIR WALTER. How quietly we live here, Unread in the world's business, Who are they? SIR WALTER. MARGARET. A gallant brace of Frenchmen, curled monsieurs, To an indifferent eye, both show alike. But all familiar objects in the scene, Which now ye miss, that constitute a difference. [Smiling. Friends had ye, and much wealth, ye now have And take no note of all its slippery changes! Without the ills and falsehoods of the greater; SIMON. Only the dangerous errors, fond conceits As, namely, riches, honors, birth, place, courtesy, Soul-killing lies, and truths that work small good, (MARGARET enters in boy's apparel.) SIR WALTER. What pretty boy have we here? MARGARET. nothing; Bonjour, messieurs. Ye have handsome English faces. She fears to ask it. A scant petition, Margaret, but take it, [Addresses them both. Better the dead were gather'd to the dead, SIMON. Why, whither shall we go? SIR WALTER. You to the Court, where now your brother John MARGARET. In the name of the boy-god, who plays at hood man-blind with the Muses, and cares not whom he catches; what is it you love? SIMON. Simply, all things that live, From the crook'd worm to man's imperial form. In the upper sky. The fish in th' other element, MARGARET. I myself love all these things, yet so as with a f ference-for example, some animals better than others, some men rather than other men; the night ingale before the cuckoo, the swift and graceful pul frey before the slow and asinine mule. Your humer goes to confound all qualities. What sports do you use in the forest? SIMON. Not many; some few, as thus: To see the sun to bed, and to arise. Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes, Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him. With all his fires and travelling glories round him. Sometimes the moon on soft night-clouds to rest, Like beauty nestling in a young man's breast, And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep. Sometimes outstretch'd, in very idleness, Nought doing, saying little, thinking less, To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air, Go eddying round; and small birds, how they fare, Where the world's fashion smiles on youth and beauty. When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn, Luck to John! SIMON. A light-heel'd strumpet, when the sport is done. SIR WALTER. You to the sweet society of your equals, MARGARET. Filch'd from the careless Amalthea's horn; Where young men's flatteries cozen young maids' And how the woods berries and worms provide Without their pains, when earth has nought beside To view the graceful deer come tripping by, How fared my brother John, when you left Devon? To mark the structure of a plant or tree, For more devotion, to be sure.-(To a servant). Sirrah, fetch the gilt goblets. [The goblets are brought. They drink the king's health, kneeling. A shout of general approbation following the first appearance of the goblets. JOHN. We have here the unchecked virtues of the grape. How the vapors curl upwards! It were a life of gods to dwell in such an element: to see, and hear, and talk brave things. Now fie upon these casual potations. That a man's most exalted reason should depend upon the ignoble fermenting of a fruit which sparrows pluck at as well as we! GRAY (aside to Lovel). Observe how he is ravished. LOVEL. Vanity and gay thoughts of wine do meet in him, and engender madness. [While the rest are engaged in a wild kind of talk, John advances to the front of the stage and soliloquizes. What be they? LOVEL The work of London artists, which our host s provided in honor of this day. SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocke LOVEL Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has bee at the pains to provide this spectacle, we can do w less than be present at it. It will not take up mach time. Every man may return fresh and thirsting t his liquor. THIRD GENTLEMAN. SECOND GENTLEMAN. Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that. [They go out, singing. Only Lovel remains, who observes Wood vil. JOHN (still talking to himself.) This Lovel here's of a tough honesty, Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of that wet. Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors, And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine, Spend vows as fast as vapors, which go off Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one, Whose sober morning actions Shame not his o'ernight promises; Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises; Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate Might trust her counsels of predestination with, And the world be no loser. Why should I fear this man? Where is the company gone? LOVEL. [Sering LOVEL To see the fire-works, where you will be expected to follow. But I perceive you are better engaged. JOHN. I have been meditating this half-hour LOVEL. I think many men would die for their friends. JOHN. Death! why 't is nothing. We go to it for sport, To gain a name, or purse, or please a sullen humor, When one has worn his fortune's livery threadbare, Or his spleen'd mistress frowns. Husbands will venture on it, To cure the hot fits and cold shakings of jealousy. A friend, sir, must do more. LOVEL Can he do more than die? JOHN. To serve a friend, this he may do. Pray mark me ring a law within (great spirits feel one) cannot, ought not to be bound by any itive laws or ord'nances extern, may reject all these: by the law of friendship may do so much, be they, indifferently, m'd statutes, or the land's unwritten usages, public fame, civil compliances, snamed honor, trust in matter of secrets, vows and promises, the feeble mind's religion nding our morning knowledge to approve aat last night's ignorance spake); e ties of blood withal, and prejudice of kin. , these weak terrors ast never shake me. I know what belongs a worthy friendship. Come, you shall have my confidence. I believe, a certain fondness, You have now the pledge of a dear father's life. And by our well-knit friendship I conjure you, [Kneels. A child-like cleaving to the land that gave him birth, You see these tears. My father's an old man. Chains him like fate. I am no babbler, sir; you need not fear me. JOHN. Pray let him live. Come, sir, here is no subterfuge. But some men have been known to talk in their sleep, You must kill me, or I kill you. And tell fine tales that way. LOVEL. I have heard so much. But, to say truth, I mostly | Have at you, sir. sleep alone. LOVEL (drawing). [Draws. |