LESSON LI. The same subject, continued. [Scene after the Marriage. Enter the Duke, leading in Juliana.] Duke. [Brings a chair forward, and sits down.] You are welcome home. Juliana. Home! You are merry ! Would be a palace for an owl! Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it. This is the noble mansion that I spoke of! this retired spot Jul. This! You are not in earnest, though you bear it With such a sober brow. Come, come, you jest! Duke. Indeed, I jest not; were it ours in jest, We should have none, wife, Jul. Are you serious, sir? Duke. I swear, as I'm your husband, and no duke. Duke. But of my own creation, lady. Jul. Am I betrayed?- Nay, do not play the fool' It is too keen a joke. Duke. You'll find it true. Jul. You are no duke, then? Duke. Jul. Have I been cozened? And have you no estate, sir, No palaces nor houses? Duke. None but this: A small snug dwelling, and in good repair. Jul. Nor money, nor effects? Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us Duke. They were my friends; who, having done my business, Are gone about their own. Jul. Why, then, 't is clear. That I was ever born! What are you, sir? Duke. [Rises.] I am an honest man, you. Young, nor ill-favored, that may content - should not that content you? [Going. I am your husband, and that must content you. Jul. I will go home! Duke. You are at home, already. [Staying her. Jul. I'll not endure it! - But remember this When you have learnt to wait upon yourself. Duke. And if you should, 't would grow again. (For such, my would-be duchess, you will find me) You were cut out by nature. Jul. You will find, then, That education, sir, has spoilt me for it. Duke. I think 't will happen, wife. Jul. What! Rub and scrub Your noble palace clean? Duke. Those taper fingers Will do it daintily. Jul. And dress your victuals? (If there be any). O! I could go mad! to all Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps neatly; Wait, like an echo, till you 're spoken to Jul. Or like a clock, talk only once an hour? Duke. Or like a dial; for that quietly Performs its work, and never speaks at all. Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs!-O, mon strous! And when I stir abroad, on great occasions, Carry a squeaking tithe-pig to the vicar; Or jolt with higgler's wives the market trot, To sell your eggs and butter! Duke. Excellent! How well you sum the duties of a wife! Why, what a blessing I shall have in you! Duke. When they talk of you and me, Duke. O, no! We'll have no devils. Jul. I'll not bear it! I'll to my father's! Duke. Gently; you forget You are a perfect stranger to the road. Jul. My wrongs will find a way, or make one! Duke. Softly! You stir not hence, except to take the air; And then I'll breathe it with you. Jul. What!-confine me? Duke. 'T would be unsafe to trust you yet abroad. Jul. Am I a truant schoolboy? Duke. Nay, not so; But you must keep your bounds. Duke. Beat you! The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Whom 't were gross flattery to name a coward. I'll talk to you lady, but not beat you. I Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father, Duke. You will find them In the next room. A word before you go. Jul. Your fortune! - Peace! No fooling, idle woman ! Beneath the attesting eye of Heaven I've sworn To love, to honor, cherish, and protect you. No human power can part us. What remains, then? To fret, and worry and torment each other, And give a keener edge to our hard fate, By sharp upbraidings, and perpetual jars ? Or, like a loving and a patient pair To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment? you With words that may inflame, but cannot heal! Jul. You shall know me For a right woman, full of her own sex; Who, when she suffers wrong, will speak her anger; By the proud reason of superior man, To be taught patience, when her swelling heart [Exit. Duke. Why, let the flood rage on! Perchance she may have fits!—They are seldom mortal Save when the doctor's sent for. Though I have heard some husbands say, and wisely, A woman's honor is her safest guard, Yet there's some virtue in a lock and key. [Locks the door. So, thus begins our honey-moon. — 'Tis well! For the first fortnight, ruder than March winds, She'll blow a hurricane. The next, perhaps, Like April, she may wear a changeful face Of storm and sunshine; and, when that is past, She will break glorious as unclouded May; And where the thorns grew bare, the spreading blossoms Meet with no lagging frost to kill their sweetness. Whilst others, for a month's delirious joy, Buy a dull age of penance, we, more wisely, LESSON LII. The Treasures of the Deep. - - MRS. HEMANS. 1. WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, We ask not such from thee. 2. Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! Earth claims not these again! 3. Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weeds o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, ocean, in thy scornful play; Man yields them to decay! 4. Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar, The battle-thunders will not break their rest. 5. Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom 6. To thee the love of woman hath gone down; |