CHAPTER XVI.

GIVE way-give way-I must and will have justice,
And tell me not of privilege and place;

Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress.
Look to it, every one who bars my access;
I have a heart to feel the injury,

A hand to right myself, and, by my honour,
That hand shall grasp what grey-beard Law denies me.

CHAPTER XVII.

COME hither, young one-Mark me!

Thou art now

'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputation More than by constant income-Single-suited

They are, I grant you; yet each single suit

Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand followers

And they be men, who, hazarding their all,
Needful apparel, necessary income,
And human body, and immortal soul,
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing—
So strictly is that ALL bound in reversion;
Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer,-
And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend;
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes,
Play better than himself his game on earth.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Mother. WHAT! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's mirror, With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont, Flings back the sunbeams in the eye of passengers— Then laughs to see them stumble !

Daughter. Mother! no

It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me,
And never shall these eyes see true again.

CHAPTER XIX.

By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle
This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier,
To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow,
And sing a roundel as she help'd to arm him,
Though the rough foeman's drums were beat so nigh,
They seem'd to bear the burden.

CHAPTER XX.

CREDIT me, friend, it hath been ever thus,

Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat.

False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed

Repented and reproach'd, and then believed once

more.

CHAPTER XXI.

Rove not from pole to pole—the man lives here
Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer;
And where, in either sense, the cockney-put
May, if he pleases, get confounded cut.

CHAPTER XXVI.

GIVE us good voyage, gentle stream-we stun not
Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry;

Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks
With voice of flute and horn-we do but seek
On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom
To glide in silent safety.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MARRY, come up, sir, with your gentle blood!
Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet,
That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn
From the far source of old Assyrian kings,
Who first made mankind subject to their sway.

CHAPTER XXXV.

We are not worse at once-the course of evil
Begins so slowly, and from such slight source,

B.

An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay But let the stream get deeper, and philosophyAy, and religion too,-shall strive in vain.

To turn the headlong torrent.

WHY then, we will have bellowing of beeves,
Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots;
Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore
Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry,
Join'd to the brave heart's-blood of John-a-Barleycorn

CHAPTER IV.

No, sir, I will not pledge-I'm one of those

Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface To make it welcome.

If you doubt my word,

Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on't.