But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,

Purple the sails, and so perfuméd, that

close ;

Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.
Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense;
Nothing could make her meet her father's face,
Though on all other things with looks intense

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence

Availed for either; neither change of place,

Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
Senses to sleep, the power seemed gone forever.

Twelve days and nights she withered thus; at last,
Without a groan or sigh or glance to show
A parting pang, the spirit from her past;

were silver;

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggared all description: she did lie
In her pavilion (cloth of gold of tissue),
O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see,
The fancy out-work nature; on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.

AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony ! ENO. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, So many mermaids, tender d her i' the eyes,

:

The very instant, till the change that cast

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes, -the beautiful, the black,— O, to possess such lustre, - and then lack!

She died, but not alone; she held within

A second principle of life, which might
Have dawned a fair and sinless child of sin;
But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough lie withered with one
blight;

In vain the dews of heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.
Thus lived, thus died she; nevermore on her,
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth; her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful, — such as had not stayed
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.
That isle is now all desolate and bare,

Its dwellings down, its tenants passed away; None but her own and father's grave is there,

And nothing outward tells of human clay; Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,

No stone is there to show, no tongue to say, What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

BYRON.

A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthronéd i' the market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
AGR.
Rare Egyptian!
ENO. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper: she replied,

It should be better he became her guest;
Which she entreated: our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of "No" woman heard
speak,

Being barbered ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart
For what his eyes eat only.
AGR.
Royal wench!
MECENAS. NOW Antony must leave her utterly.
ENO. Never; he will not:

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies: for vilest things
Become themselves in her; that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.

SHAKESPEARE.

GODIVA.

FROM

CLEOPATRA.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA."

Not only we, the latest seed of Time,

New men, that in the flying of a wheel
Cry down the past; not only we, that prate

nished throne,

A good man there was of religion,
That was a poor PARSONE of a town ;
But rich he was in holy thought and work,
He was also a learned man, a clerk,
That Christ's gospel truely would preach.
His parishens devoutly would he teach,
Benigne he was and wondrous diligent,
And in adversity full patient:
And such he was yproved often times;
Full loth were he to cursen for his tithes,
But rather would he given, out of doubt,
Unto his poor parishioners about,

Of his offering, and eke of his substance;
He could in little thing have suffisance.
Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,
But he nor felt nor thought of rain or thunder,
In sickness and in mischief to visit
The farthest in his parish, much and oft,
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.
This noble ensample to his sheep he gave.
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught,
Out of the gospel he the words caught,
And this figure he added yet thereto,
That if gold rust, what should iron do?
And if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,
No wonder if a common man do rust;
Well ought a priest ensample for to give,
By his cleanness, how his sheep should live.
He set not his benefice to hire,
Or left his sheep bewildered in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's,
To seeken him a chanterie for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be withold:
But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.
He was a shepherd and no mercenarie,
And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not dispiteous,
Nor of his speech dangerous nor high,
But in his teaching discrete and benigne.
To draw his folk to heaven, with fairness,
By good ensample, was his business :
But if were any person obstinate,
Whether he were of high or low estate,
Him would he reprove sharply for the nones,
A better priest I trow that nowhere is.
He waited after neither pomp ne reverence,

Nor maked him no spiced conscience, But Christ's lore and his Apostles twelv He taught, but first he followed it hims

THE VICAR.

SOME years ago, ere time and taste Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel park was Darnel waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way between

St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket Was always shown across the green,

And guided to the parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath;

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path,

C

Through clean-clipt rows of box and r And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, Upon the parlor steps collected, Wagged all their tails, and seemed to sa "Our master knows you; you're exp

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown,
Up rose the doctor's "winsome marro
The lady laid her knitting down,

Her husband clasped his ponderous B Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed,

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed,

And welcome for himself, and dinner. If, when he reached his journey's end,

And warmed himself in court or colleg He had not gained an honest friend, And twenty curious scraps of knowled If he departed as he came,

With no new light on love or liquor, Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, And not the vicarage or the vicar. His talk was like a stream which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses It slipped from politics to puns;

It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws which keep

The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep

For dressing eels or shoeing horses. He was a shrewd and sound divine,

Of loud dissent the mortal terror; And when, by dint of page and line,

He 'stablished truth or startled error, The Baptist found him far too deep,

The Deist sighed with saving sorrow, And the lean Levite went to sleep

And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow.

His sermon never said or showed

That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious, Without refreshment on the road,

From Jerome or from Athanasius; And sure a righteous zeal inspired

The hand and head that penned and planned them,

For all who understood admired,

And some who did not understand them

He wrote too, in a quiet way,

Small treatises, and smaller verses, And sage remarks on chalk and clay, And hints to noble lords and nurses; True histories of last year's ghost;

Lines to a ringlet or a turban ;
And trifles for the "Morning Post";
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.

He did not think all mischief fair,

Although he had a knack of joking; He did not make himself a bear,

Although he had a taste for smoking; And when religious sects ran mad,

He held, in spite of all his learning, That if a man's belief is bad,

It will not be improved by burning.

And he was kind, and loved to sit

In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage. At his approach complaint grew mild, And when his hand unbarred the shutter

The clammy lips of fever smiled

The welcome that they could not utter.

He always had a tale for me

Of Julius Cæsar or of Venus; From him I learned the rule of three, Cat's-cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus. I used to singe his powdered wig,

To steal the staff he put such trust in, And make the puppy dance a jig

When he began to quote Augustine.

Alack, the change! In vain I look

For haunts in which my boyhood trifled; The level lawn, the trickling brook,

The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled! The church is larger than before,

You reach it by a carriage entry; It holds three hundred people more, And pews are fitted for the gentry.

Sit in the vicar's seat; you'll hear

The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, Whose hand is white, whose voice is clear, Whose tone is very Ciceronian.

"6
FROM MERCHANT OF VENICE "

I'LL hold thee any wager,
When we are both accoutred like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace;
And speak between the change of man and boy,
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays,
Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,
How honorable ladies sought my love,
Which I denying, they fell sick and died, -
I could not do withal;- then I'll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not killed them:
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell ;
That men shall swear I have discontinued school
Above a twelvemonth: I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
Which I will practise.

THE TOILET.

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM THE RAPE OF THE LOCK"

AND now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, Each silver vase in mystic order laid. First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores, With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; The inferior priestess, at her altar's side Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here The various offerings of the world appear;

From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billets-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy sylphs surround their darling care,
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
And Betty's praised for labors not her own.

ALEXANDER Pope.

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing. LAWN as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber: Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.

A RECEIPT FOR SALAD.

To make this condiment your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, half suspected, animate the whole;
Of mordent mustard add a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt;

Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown,
And twice with vinegar, procured from town;
And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss
A magic soupçon of anchovy sauce.

O green and glorious! O herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he 'd turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl;

METRICAL FEET.

SHAKESPEARE.

TROCHEE trips from long to short;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slow Spondee stalks; strong foot! yet ill able
Ever to come up with Dactyl trisyllable.
Iambics march from short to long ;-

With a leap and a bound the swift Anapæsts throng;

One syllable long, with one short at each side, Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride; First and last being long, middle short, Amphi

macer

Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud highbred racer.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,