II.-LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.-Anonymous. MARY-GRANDMOTHER. Mary. She was, indeed, a pretty little creature; Grandmother. The wolf, indeed! Mary. Was't not a wolf, then? I have read the story A hundred times, and heard it told, nay, told it, Myself, to my younger sisters, when we've shrunk Together in the sheets, from very terror, And with protecting arms, each round the other, And so it was a robber, not a wolf, That met poor little Riding Hood in the wood. Grand. Nor wolf, nor robber, child: this nursery tale Contains a hidden moral. Mary. Hidden! nay, I'm not so young, but I can spell it out,— And this it is children, when sent on errands, Must never stop by the way, to talk with wolves. Grand. Tut, wolves again: wilt listen to me, child? Mary. Say on, dear grandma. Grand. Thus, then, dear my daughter : In this young person, culling idle flowers, You see the peril that attends the maiden Who, in her walk through life, yields to temptation, And quits the onward path, to stray aside, Allured by gaudy weeds. Mary. Nay, none but children Could gather butter-cups and mayweed, mother; I could live ever on a bank of violets, Or die most happy there. Grand. You die, indeed! At your years, die! Upon this picture. But we neglect our lecture Mary. Poor Red Riding Hood! We had forgotten her: yet, mark, dear madam, Grand. Thus it is! Mere children read such stories literally; Grand. The world and love were young together, child; And innocent-alas! time changes all things. Mary. True, I remember, love is now a man ; And, the song says, 66 But how a wolf? a very saucy one” Grand. In ravenous appetite, Unpitying and unsparing, passion is oft A beast of prey. As the wolf to the lamb, Mary. I shall remember, For now I see the moral. Trust me, madam, Grand. You'll do wisely. Mary. Nor e'en in field or forest, plain or pathway, Shall he from me know whither I am going, Or whisper that he'll meet me. Grand. That's my child. Mary. Nor in my grandam's cottage, or elsewhere, Will I e'er lift the latch for him myself, Or pull the bobbin. Grand. Well, my dear, You've learned your lesson. Mary. Yet one thing, my mother, Somewhat perplexes me. Grand. Say what, my love; I will explain. Mary. This wolf, the story goes, Deceived poor grandam first, and ate her up; What is the moral here? Have all our grandams Grand. Let us go in ; The air grows cool-you are a forward chit. (Exeunt.) III.-FROM WILLIAM TELL-Knowles. WALDMAN-MICHAEL. Waldman. Don't tell me, Michael! thou dost lead a life Wal. The current of thy life doth counter run Than when in manhood's chair! Survey those towers, Think of the tyrants whom they lodge, and then Link hands with fools and braggarts o'er their wine: Of such and such a jest of thine, that made Thy wanton comrades roar. Thou canst not try to speak with gravity, But in thy very gait, one sees the jest, Mich. I'm a melancholy man, That can't do that which with good will I would! Beg leave to take thy bed into the church, And when thou takest refection, feast on naught Mich. But if The bells, that ring as readily for joy As grief, should chance to ring a merry peal, Wal. Then take the rope, And hang thyself. (Crosses.) I know no other way Mich. Nay, I'll do some great feat, yet. Wal. You'll do some great feat! Take me Gesler's castle! Mich. Humph! that would be a feat, indeed! I'll do it! Wal. You'll do it! You'll get married, and have children, And be a sober citizen, before You pare your bread o' the crust. You'll do it! You'll Do nothing! Live until you are a hundred, When death shall catch you, 'twill be laughing. Look grave, talk wise, live sober, thou wilt do A harder thing, but that thou'lt never do. (Exit Waldman.) Mich. (Solus.) Hard sentence that! Dame Nature! gen tle mother! If thou hast made me of too rich a mould Do it! To think it's genial summer all year round; (Exit.) IV. FROM HENRY VI.-Shakspeare. GEORGE BEVIS-JOHN HOLLAND-CADE-DICK-SMITH-OTHERS. Bevis. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; our enemies have been up these two days. Holland. They have the more need to sleep now, then. Bev. I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier, means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. Hol. So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up. Bev. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen. Hol. The nobility scorn to go in leather aprons. Bev. Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen. Hol. True; and yet it is said, labor in thy vocation; which is as much as to say, let the magistrates be laboring men; and therefore should we be magistrates. Bev. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand. Hol. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner, of Wingham. Bev. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to make dog's leather of. Hol. And Dick, the butcher Bev. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. |