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Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you:

at sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning : do, an if you will.
If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes ?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you

? HUB.

I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTH. Ah, none but in this iron agé would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence : Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him. No tongue but Hubert's

HUB. Come forth. (Stamps.)

Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with cord, irons, etc. Do as I bid you do.

ARTH. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUB. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
ARTH. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ?

* This line has been read variously. We give it as it is printed in Charles Knight's pictorial edition. “Arthur begins a fresh sentence, which is interrupted by Hubert's stamping. He is about to say, “No tongue but Hubert's would have made me believe it."

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound !
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly ;
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUB. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him.
1st ATTEND. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

ARTH. Alas! I then have chid away my friend :
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :-
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.
ARTH. Is there no remedy?

None but to lose your eyes.
ARTH. O Heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense !
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUB. Is this your promise ? Go to; hold your tongue.

ARTH. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes :
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert !
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes : 0, spare mine eyes ;
Though to no use but still to look on you !
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me.

I can heat it, boy.
ARTH. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used

In undeserved extremes : see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.

HUB. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTH. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert ;
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ;
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre * him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office; only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, –
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUB. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes ;+
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTH. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while
You were disguised.

Peace :
Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
I 'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
O Heaven !—I thank

HUB. Silence : no more. Go closely in with me :
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

: nc more.

Adieu ;



* Urge or set hinı on.

t Owns.





|TAND! the ground 's your own, my braves !

Will ye give it up to slaves ?
Will ye hope for greener graves ?

Hope ye mercy still ?
What's the mercy despots feel !
Hear it in that battle peal !
Read it on yon bristling steel !
Ask it

ye who will.

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CHARLES SUMNER was born in Boston, January 6, 1811, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1830. He was admitted to the bar in 1834, and in 1837 visited Europe, where he remained till 1840, traveling in Italy, Germany, and France, and residing nearly a year in England. On the Fourth of July, 1845, he pronounced before the municipal authorities of Boston an oration on “The True Grandeur of Nations,” which was an eloquent argument against the war-system of nations, and in favor of peaceful arbitration in the settlement of international questions. This oration was widely circulated, both in America and England. Having become earnestly engaged in the antislavery cause, he was chosen to the Senate of the United States from the State of Massachusetts in the winter of 1851, and continued a member of that body until his death, March 11, 1874. He was well known for the energy and eloquence with which he has assailed the institution of slavery. His works, consisting of speeches and occasional addresses, have been published in three volumes, and are remarkable for fervid eloquence and abundant illustration.

The following extract is the conclusion of a discourse pronounced before the PhiBeta-Kappa Society of Harvard College, at their anniversary, August 27, 1846, entitled “The Scholar, the Jurist, the Artist, the Philanthropist,” and in commemoration of four deceased members of the society, John Pickering, Joseph Story, Washington Allston, and William Ellery Channing.

HUS have I attempted, humbly and affectionately,

to bring before you the images of our departed brothers, while I dwelt on the great causes in which their lives were made manifest. Servants of Knowledge, of Justice, of Beauty, of Love, they have ascended to the great Source of Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love. Each of our brothers is removed; but though dead, yet speaketh, informing our understandings, strengthening our sense of justice, refining our tastes, enlarging our sympathies. The body dies: but the page of the Scholar, the interpretation of the Jurist, the creation of the Artist, the beneficence of the Philanthropist, cannot die.

I have dwelt upon their lives and characters, less in grief for what we have lost, than in gratitude for what we so long possessed, and still retain, in their precious example. In proud recollection of her departed children,

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