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At sixteen years old you could get little good of ine,
Then I saw Norah,—who soon understood of me,
I was in love--but myself, for the blood of me,

Could not tell of me what I did ail.
'Twas dear, dear! what can the matter be!
Och, blood and ouns! what can the matter be'
Och, gramachree! what can the matter be!

Bothered from head to the tail.
I went to confess me to Father O'Flauagan;
Told him my case,-made an end-then began again :
Father, says I, make me soon my own man again,

If you find out what I ail.
Dear, dear! says he, what can the matter be!
Och, blood and ouns! what can the matter be!
Both cried out, what can the matter be!

Bothered from head to the tail !
Soon I fell sick-I did bellow and curse again,
Norah took pity to see me at nurse again :
Gave me a kiss ;-och, zonnds, that threw me worse again!

Well she knew what I did ail :
Bit dear, dear! says she, what can the matter be!
Och. blood and ouns! my lass, what can the matter be!
Both cried out, what can the matter be!

Bothered from head to the tail.
'Tis long ago now since I left Tipperary ;
How strange, growing older, our nature should vary !
All symptoms are gone of my ancient quandary-

I cannot tell now what I ail.
Dear, dear! what can the matter be?
Och! blood and ouns! what can the matter be?
Och, gramachree! what can the matter be ?
I'm bothered from head to the tail.

[Exit, L.

SCENE III.- Another Part of the Sierra de Ronda.—A

Cave covered with bushes, L. 3d E.- A rude Bank, with stumps of trees, R.Daybreak.

Enter two GOATHERDS, L. First G. See yonder, where day peeps! Here is the cave, father; hang your wine keg at the mouth on't, and then away to tend your goats.

Second G. Poor gentleman! a sup on't may cheer his heart. (Hangs the keg at the mouth of the cave, L. 3d E.] 'Tis sorry lodging to be a tenant of this cave for a twelvemonth, as he has been, and trust to Providence and us goatherds for board. That a civil, well-favou red cavalier should come to this pass!

First G. Civil!--Plague on him! When a' met me i' the dusk, as a' straggled a league from this, a' snatched a brown loaf from my hand, and gave me a shower of thwacks on the shoulders for payment.

Second G. Alas, boy! that was in his mool--his melancholy. 'Twill, as thou know'st, trouble him sore at times, but it rarely lasts.

First G. Flesh! I know 'twill at times trouble others, and the soreness lasts a week after it. What affairs should call a melancholy gentleman like him to our wild mountains ?

Second G. Diego, I think I have hit on't: I do think 'tis love has put him beside himself. Ask thy mother, boy, when she crossed me in wooing, how I would sometimes start from reason.

First G. Troth, father, you have that trick still: I fear me, you have been ill-cured.

Second G. Out, graceless! Hush ! dost not hear him stır?

Forst G. Nay, then, come away, father, and leave your charity behind you. An' he should be in his mood, now, we might as well meet the devil. Run, old man, or Melancholy will cudgel thee! Away ! father, away!

[Exeunt, .. Enter OCTAVIAN from the cave, L. 3d E. Oct. I cannot sleep. The leaves are newly pulled And, as my burning body presses them, Their freshness mocks my misery. That frets me! And then I could outwatch the lynx. 'Tis dawn. Thou hot and rolling sun! I rise before thee; For I have twice thy scorching flames within me, And am more restless. Now to seek my willow, That droops his mournful head across the brook : He is my calendar ; l'll score his trunk With one more long-long day of solitude ! I shall lose count else in my wretchedness, And that were pity. Oh, Octavian ! Where are the times thy ardent nature painted, When fortune smiled upon thy lusty youth,

And all was sunshine ? Where the looked-for years,
Gaily bedecked with fancy's imagery,
When the high blood ran frolic through thy veins,
And boyhood made thee sanguine ? Let them vanish!
Prosperity's a cheat-Despair is honest,
And will stick by me steadily! I'll hug it,-
Will glut on’t! Why, the gray-beard tore her from me,
Even in my soul's fond dotage! Oh! 'tis pastime
To see men, now, tug at each other's hearts !
I fear not, for my strings are cracked already.
I will go prowl, but look I meet no fathers !
Now, willow. Oh, Floranthe!

[Exit, R. Enter Sadi and AGNES, L. Sadi. A plague on all horses, mountains, and quagmires ! Nay, keep a good heart, Agnes. Of all the roads to Christendom, this is the vilest that ever good fellow travelled. How fares it, Agnes ?

Agnes. Oh, Sadi, I shall never live through this mountain !

Sadi. Nay, I warrant we'll do well. Do not flag-do not give way thus—for my sake. Consider, I must support you, Agnes ; and to see you thus, I can scarce support myself. I have had my load of vexation ere now, but this is the first time I ever carried double; and I know not well how to bear it.

Agnes. Good faith, I do my best, Sadi; and I have one comfort left me still.

Sadi. Ay, I warrant: what is it, Agnes ?

Agnes. Why, you are with me, Sadi. Should fatigue weary me, and should I die in these wilds, you would close the eyes of your poor Agnes ! and I should go in peace, with one near me who has been so faithful to me.

Sadi. No, truly, Agnes, I could never do thee that office. Close thy eyes! I should have so much need to lift the napkin to my own, I could never see to perform it. What, thou art not faint, Agnes ?

Agnes. Trust me, very faint, Sadi; and sick-sick at heart.

Saai. With fasting, poor soul ! These mountains would tease hunger into a fever: there are eatables perch ed upon every bush, but not a morsel that isn't alive.

Agnes. Fainter and fainter!

Sadi. (Seating her on the bank, r.] Rest you on this clump, Agnes; and if anything may be found near us to comfort thee, I'll fight for it through a

a-Eh! a cave, and a keg hung at the mouth on’t! (Taking it down.] Wine, by the Koran! To see what Providence will do for a Christian! Were a Mussulman fainting to death, this is the first thing Mahomet would kick out of his way.-Drink, drink, Agnes: and much good may it do thy little heart! (Holding the keg to her mouth.] How dost now? Agnes. Sooth, it has cheered me; butSadi. Well ! Agnes. Will you not drink, too, Sadi ?

Sadi. Now does conscience make a stir within me, to know whether I am qualified to sup this liquor or not.--Dost think, Agnes, I am Christian enough yet to venture ?

Agnes. Go to, man; thou needest it, and there is much virtue in good wine.

Sadi. Nay, an' there be virtue in't-[Drinking.] By St. Francis, Agnes, thy religion is marvellous comfortable ! Would we were safe settled in Andalusia! I shall make as chopping a subject for a christening, as ever nurse put into the hands of a friar. Canst journey onward, think you, Agnes ?

Agnes. Shall we overtake the Lady Zorayda ?

Sadi. Nay, that's hopeless. We are bewildered here in the woods, and must e'en give up thoughts of seeing her till we reach Seville.

Agnes. Heaven send the dear lady be safe! I would fain, then, rest me, Sadi; for, in sooth, my legs fail me sadly.

sadi. And here stands a cave yawning, as it would invite sleep. In, Agnes, and I'll keep guard.

Agnes. You will not quit me now?
Sadi. I would quit life first.

[Puts Agnes into cave, L. 3d e.

Re-enter OCTAVIAN, R. Oct. How now?

Sadi. (Aside.] This, now, by the costliness of his robes, must be lord of this mansion. (Aloud.] What would you ?

Oct. I would pass

Deep in yon cave, to hide me from the sur.
His rising beams have tipped the trees wit. gold
He gladdens men, but I do bask in sorrow.

Give way.

Sadi. Mark you : I do respect sorrow too much to do it wilful injury. I am a Moor, 'tis true; that is, I am not quite a Christian; but I never yet saw man bending under misfortune, that I did not think it pleasure to lighten his load. Strive to pass here, and I must add blows to your burden, and that might haply break your back; for, to say truth, I have now a treasure in this cave, that, while I can hinder it, sorrow shall never come nigh.

Oct. Death! must I burrow here with brutes, and find My haunts broke in upon ? my cares disturbed ? Reptile! I'll dash thy body o'er the rocks, And leave thee to the vultures !

Sadi. Friend, you'll find me too tough to be served up to em.

(They struggle. Re-enter Agnes from the cave, and running between them. Agnes. (c.) Oh, Sadi-for


sake !--Gentleman hold!

Oct. (L.) Woman!
Sadi. (R.) Ay! and touch her at your peril!
Oct. Not for the worth of worlds! Thou lovest her ?

He who would cut the knot that does entwine
And link two loving hearts in unison,
May have man's form ; but at his birth—be sure on't
Some devil thrust sweet nature's hand aside,
Ere she had poured her balm within his breast,
To warın his


and earthly mould with pity. Sadi. [Asidi.] This fellow, now, is like a great melon, with a rough outside, and much sweetness under it. [To Octavian.] It seems as thou wert sent, ragged ambassador, here from a strange nation, to tieat with the four-foot citizens of this mountain; and as we ure unknown in these parts, we will even throw ourselves on thy protection.

Oct. Some paces hence there is goatherd's cot,
Begirt with brake and bush, and weather-proof.

Agnes. Let us thither, Sadi.
Sadi. Content.

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