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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 of fice. 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.

These mountains

Saai. With fasting, poor soul! 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-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; but―
Sadi. 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 my sake!-Gentlemanhold!

Oct. (L.) Woman!

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

Mark:

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 warm his gross and earthly mould with pity.

Sadi. [Aside.] 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 ambassa dor, here from a strange nation, to treat with the four-foot citizens of this mountain; and as we are 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.

Oct. I'll lead thee to't; [Crossing, R.] for I am high in office

In Cupid's cabinet: I bear the torch
Before the little god; and 'tis my care
To shield from peril true love's votaries.

Sadi. [Aside.] I knew he was a great man; but I never heard mention before of such a place of dignity. [Aloud.] Along, good fellow, and we'll follow thee.

Oct. They shall not part you; for I know what 'tis,
When worldly knaves step in, with silver beards,
To poison bliss, and pluck young souls asunder.
Oh! wander, boundless Love, across the wild!
Give thy free passion scope, and range the wilderness!
Crib not thyself in cities, for 'tis there
The thrifty, gray philosopher inhabits,

To check thy glowing impulse in his child!
Gain is the old man's god: he offers up
His issue to't, and mercenary wedlock
Murders his offspring's peace! They murdered mine!
They tore it from my bosom by the roots,

And with it plucked out hope! Well, well no matter! Despair burns high within me, and its fire

Serves me for heat, to keep my clay in motion.
Follow my footsteps.

Agnes. Out, alas! his wits are turned. Do not venture with him, Sadi; he will do us a mischief.

Sadi. Truly, the tenement of his brain seems somewhat out of repair. Wilt lead us safe now?

Oct Be sure on't.

Sadi. Tuck thyself under my arm, Agnes. Now out, cimetar! Bring us to this same goatherd's, and thou shalt have the best acknowledgments gratitude can give thee. If thou venturest to harm her, I'll quickly stir the fire in thy bosom thou talkest of, and this [Showing the cimetar,] shall serve for the poker.

Oct. Should the gaunt wolf cross lovers in their path, I'd rend his rugged jaws, and he should bay

The moon no more with howling! Thread the thicket,— Follow Love's messengers!

[Exeunt, R.

Enter GOATHERDS, and male and female Spanish Pastoral Characters, L.

Third G. (R. e.) On, brother goatherds! By the mass,

'tis broad day, and the blazing sun cries sluggard upon us! Up to the pens! our goats will choke else: they have needed drink an hour ago.

Fourth G. (c.) Troth, brother, and so have we. When man has a call for refreshment, 'tis but fit beast should tar. ry till his better be served before him. We have walked a good half league from home: let us whet our whistles, and then we will think on the horns and long beards of our old cuckoldy cattle.

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