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Besides, sleep makes us all alike, great and small, rich and poor Call to mind, too, who first put this whim of governing into my head-who was it but yourself? for, alack, I know no more about governing islands than a bustard; and, if you fancy that, in case I should be a governor, the devil will have me-in God's name, let me rather go to Heaven plain Sancho, than a governor

to Hell"

10. "Before God, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote, "for those .ast words of thine, I think that thou deservest to be governor of a thousand islands! Thou hast a good disposition, without which knowledge is of no value. Pray to God, and endeavor not to err in thy intention; I mean, let it ever be thy unshaken purpose and design to do right in whatever business occurs; for Heaven constantly favors a good intention."

EXERCISE C.

CHAPMAN and SHIRLEY were contemporary English dramatists in the early part of the seventeenth century. The former was much the older man, and is distinguished as being the earliest English translator of Homer. The subject of the following extract, which is given by Charles Lamb, as their joint production, is explained in the note below.

PHILIP CHABOT (Chabo), Admiral of France, being accused of treason, a criminal process is instituted against him, and his faithful servant Allegre is put on the rack to make him discover. His innocence is at length established by the confession of his enemies; but the disgrace of having been suspected for a traitor by his Royal Master, sinks s deep into his heart, that he falls into a mortal sickness.

THE FATAL CHARGE.

CHAPMAN AND SHIRLEY

ADMIRAL, and ALLEGRE, supported between two persons.

Adm. Welcome, my injured servant; what a misery Have they made on thee!

Alleg. Though some change appear

Upon my body whose severe affliction

Hath brought it thus to be sustained by others,
My heart is still the same in faith to you,
Not broken with their rage.

Adm. Alas, poor man!

Were all my joys essential, and so mighty,
As the affected world believes I taste,
This object were enough t' unsweeten all.
Though in thy absence, I had suffering,
And felt within me a strong sympathy,
While, for my sake, their cruelty did vex,
And fright thy nerves, with horror of thy sense,
Yet in this spectacle I apprehend

More grief, than all my imagination

Could let before into me. Didst not curse me
Upon the torture?

Alleg. Good my lord, let not

That thought of what I suffered dwell upon
Your memory; they could not punish more
Than what my duty did oblige to bear

For you and justice: but there's something, in
Your looks, presents more fear, than all the malice
Of my tormentors could affect my soul with.
That paleness, and the other forms you wear,
Would well become a guilty admiral, one
Lost to his hopes and honor, not the man

Upon whose life the fury of injustice,

Armed with fierce lightning and the power of thunder,

Can make no breach. I was not racked till now.

There's more death in that falling eye, than all

Rage ever yet brought forth. What accident, sir, can blast,——

Can be so black and fatal, to distract

The calm, the triumph, that should sit upon

Your noble brow: misfortune could have no

Time to conspire with fate, since you were rescued
By the great arm of Providence; nor can
Those garlands, that now grow about your forehead,
With all the poison of the world, be blasted.

Adm. Allegre, thou dost bear thy wounds upon thee

In wide and spacious characters; but, in

The volume of my sadness, thou dost want
An eye to read. An open force hath torn
Thy manly sinews, which some time may cure.
The engine is not seen, that wounds thy master,—
Past all the remedy of art, or time,

The flatteries of court, of fame or honors.
Thus, in the summer, a tall flourishing tree,
Transplanted by strong hand, with all her leaves
And blooming pride upon her, makes a show
Of spring, tempting the eye with wanton blossoms;
But not the sun with all her amorous smiles,
The dews of morning, or the tears of night,
Can root her fibers in the earth again;

Or make her bosom kind, to growth and bearing:
But the tree withers; and those very beams,

That once were natural warmth to her soft verdure,
Dry up her sap, and shoot a fever through
The bark and rind, till she becomes a burden
To that which gave her life: so Chabot, Chabot-
Alleg. Wander in apprehension! I must
Suspect your health, indeed.

Adm. No, no, thou shalt not

Be troubled: I but stirred thee with a moral

That's empty,-contains nothing. I am well:

See, I can walk; poor man, thou hast not strength yet.

(The father of the Admiral makes known the condition his son is in to the King.)

FATHER. KING.

King. Say, how is my admiral?

The truth, upon thy life.

Fath. To secure his, I would you

had.

King. Ha! who durst oppose him?

Fath. One that hath power enough, hath practiced on him, And made his great heart stoop.

King. I will revenge it

With crushing, crushing that rebellious power

To nothing. Name him!

Fath. He was his friend.

King. What mischief hath engendered

New storms?

Fath. 'Tis the old tempest.

King. Did not we

Appease all horrors that looked wild upon him?

Fath. You dressed his wounds, I must confess, but made

No cure; they bleed afresh: pardon me, sir;

Although your conscience have closed too soon,
He is in danger, and doth want new surgery:
Though he be right in fame, and your opinion,
He thinks you were unkind.

King. Alas! poor Chabot!

Doth that afflict him?

Fath. So much, though he strive

With most resolved and adamantine nerves,
As ever human fire in flesh and blood

Forged for example, to bear all; so killing

The arrows that you shot, were (still, your pardon !)
No Centaur's blood could rankle so.

King. If this

Be all, I'll cure him. Kings retain

More balsam in their souls, than hurt in anger.

Fath. Far short, sir; with one breath they uncreate;
And kings, with only words, more wounds can make
Than all their kingdom, made in balm, can heal.
"Tis dangerous to play too wild a descant
On numerous virtue; though it become princes
To assure their adventures made in everything.
Goodness confined within poor flesh and blood,
Hath but a queasy and still sickly state;
A musical hand should only play on her,
F'uent as air, yet every touch command.
King. No more:

Commend us to the admiral, and say

The king will visit him, and bring him health.

Fath. I will not doubt that blessing, and shall move

Nimbly with this command.

KING.

(The King visits the Admiral.)

ADMIRAL.

King. No ceremonial knees:

His Wife and Father.

Give me thy heart, my dear, my honest Chabot;
And yet in vain I challenge that; 'tis here
Already in my own, and shall be cherished
With care of my best life: no violence
Shall ravish it from my possession;
Not those distempers that infirm my blood
And spirits, shall betray it to a fear;
When time and nature join to dispossess
My body of a cold and languishing breath,—
No stroke in all my arteries, but silence

In every faculty,—yet dissect me then,

And, in my heart, the world shall read thee living;
And, by the virtue of thy name writ there,
That part of me shall never putrefy,

When I am lost in all my other dust.

Adm. You too much honor your poor servant, sir;

My heart despairs so rich a monument.
But when it dies-

King. I would not hear a sound

Of anything that trenched upon death.

He speaks the funeral of my crown, that prophesies
So unkind a fate: we'll live and die together.
And by that duty, which hath taught you hitherto
All loyal and just services, I charge thee,
Preserve thy heart for me, and thy reward
Which now shall crown thy merits.

Adm. I have found

A glorious harvest in your favor, sir;
And, by this overflow of royal grace,

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