« ElőzőTovább »
Is there no way, good Colax,
To cross the sea by land? O the situation,
The horrible situation of an island!
Colax. (aside to APHOBUS) You, sir, are far above such frivolous thoughts You fear not death.
Apho. No more than sudden sleeps. Sir, I dare die.
How can you, sir, prevent it?
Deil. Why, I will kill myself.
A valiant course;
And the right way to prevent death indeed.
Your spirit (aside to DEILUS) is true Roman!-But yours (aside to АPHO
That fears not death, nor yet the manner of it.
(Aloud) Should heaven fall
Why, then we should have larks.
Apho. 'Twould save me the expenses of a grave.
Pop-guns to me
But a bodkin!
Apho. O that the valiant giants should again
Col. (aside to APHOBUS) Had Enceladus
Been half so valiant, Jove had been his prisoner.
Apho. Why should we think there be such things as dangers ? Scylla, Charybdis, Python, are but fables;
Medea's bull and dragon very tales;
Sea-monsters, serpents, all poetical figments;
There is, they say, a looking-glass, a strange one
How! a looking-glass?
Trust me, a mere reflection.
Deil. (mustering up all his forces) I will trust thee
Col. (aside to APHOBUS) A trick to fright the idiot
Your optic nerves would shrink in the beholding.
The prince of eagles.
Apho. Look to it, eyes: if ye refuse this right, My nails shall damn you to eternal night.
Col. (aside to himself) Seeing no hope of gain, I pack them hence. "Tis gold gives flattery all her eloquence.
1 Who knows but they come leering after us
To steal away the substance?
A very poetical apprehension, and very poetically expressed. The word leering has a fine comic mystery in it; which is always an aggravation of horror, upon the principle of extremes meeting-malice in benevolence.
Squibs and crackers!
The mere epitomes of the gunpowder treason!
The wording of this extravagance is just as if Charles Lamb had written it. But indeed, in the pregnancy as well as coloring of his style, he was one of our old wits come back again.
I'll go get a lodging
Out of its influence.
The caricatures of Fear, after all, are not caricatures. It is the only passion that cannot be overdrawn. Multitudes of people in civilized countries have been known to do things as ridiculous as this; have believed in the end of the world because a madman announced it, and gone out of town to avoid an earthquake next Wednesday!
♦ “I will not die.”-Here again there is no caricature. These ridiculous words have too often become terrible to the hearers, in the mouth of poor angry mortality. What Deilus also says afterwards of his killing himself to avoid death, has not only the authority of Ovid
And from the fear of Death
Flies into death's own arms;
but is founded in the depths of the secret of terror.
PRETENDED FAIRIES ROBBING AN ORCHARD.
DORYLAS has induced JOCASTUS, a foolish country gentleman, to believe him to be OBERON, Prince of the Fairies; and, in company with some other young rogues, takes advantage of his credulity to rob his orchard.
Enter DORYLAS, with a bevy of Fairies.
Dor. (to his companions) How like you my Grace? Is not my coun.
Royal and full of majesty? Walk I not
Like the young Prince of Pygmies? Ha, my knaves!
We'll fill our pockets. Look, look yonder, elves:
Would not yon apples tempt a better conscience
Than any we have to rob an orchard? Ha!
Fairies, like nymphs with child, must have the things
In that strange tongue I taught you, while myself
Do climb the trees. (He climbs.) Thus princely Oberon
CHORUS OF FAIRIES.
Nos beata Fauni proles,'
Furto cuncta magis bella,
Cum mortales lecto jacent,
Enter JOCASTUS and his servant BROMIUS.
Joc. What divine noise, fraught with immortal harmony. Salutes mine ears!
Why, this immortal harmony
Rather salutes your orchard. These young rascals (Aside), These peascod shellers, do so cheat my master,
We cannot have an apple in the orchard,
But straight some fairy longs for 't. (To his master.) Well, if I Might have my will, a whip again should jerk 'em
Joc. Prince Oberon! I heard his Grace's name.
Bold mortal, hold thy hand.
Brom. Immortal thief, come down, or I will fetch you." Methinks it should impair your Grace's honor
To steal poor mortals' apples. Now, have at you.
Would not have suffer'd this profane rude groom
The fellow is a fool, and not yet purg'd
From his mortality.
Joc. (to BROMIUs) Villain, thou hast undone me! His Grace is much incens'd.
You know, Jocastus,
Our Grace have orchards of our own, more precious
A present of them t'other day.
Your Grace's humble servant must acknowledge it.
[Oberon, descend, we pray thee,