« EdellinenJatka »
This instrument our Maitre d' Hote
Addressed him with the usual salutation.
Determined while the iron's hot to strike it, .
Oh dear Monsieur, vat make you use me so?
Vat call you dis?"-" Ah don't you know, That's what I please,” says Bonny,“ how d’ye like it! Your friend, althoughi I paid dear for his funning, Deserved the goose he gained Sir, for his cunning ; .. But you, Monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting, Are goose enough—and only wanted basting.”
ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CÆSAR'S BODY.:
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : :
But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Unto their issue.-
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii.--Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through :See what a rent the envious Casca made.Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it !As rushing out of doors, to be resolved, If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ;''. For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel : Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him! This, this was the unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. O what a fall was there, iny countrymen!. Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 0, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops." Kind souls; what ! weep you when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ?-look yoù here ! Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable ; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no orator, as Brutus is :
LOCHIEL'S WARNING. Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day . When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes: red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fiyht. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Cullodeu ! that reeks with the blood of the brave.
Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death
telling seer ! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, : This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. Ha! laughest thou, Lochiel, my vision to
scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rodo Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havock on high! Ah! home let him speed,- for the spoiler is nigh. Why Alames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? "Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! For the blacknees of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled
my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, ! When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Claaranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array
Wizard. --Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day