V. And, in my dying hour, When riches, fame, and honor have no power Or from my lips to turn aside the cup O, let me draw refreshment from the past! With peace and joy, along my earthly track, That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds, VI. And, though no grassy mound Or granite pile say 'tis heroic ground Where my remains repose, Still will I hope-vain hope, perhaps !—that those The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless, May stand around my grave With the poor prisoner, and the poorer slave, And breathe a humble prayer, That they may die like him whose bones are moldering there. EXERCISE LXIV. JOHN TOBIN was born in Salisbury, England, in the year 1770. He die in 1304. "He passed," says Mrs. Inchbald, "many years in the anxious labor of writing plays, which were rejected by the managers; and no sooner had they accepted The Honey-Moon,' than he died, and never enjoyed the recompense of seeing it performed." The Honey-Moon, however, from which we take the following dialogue, proved a splendid success. The scene is laid in Spain. The Duke of Aranza, after marrying Juliana, the proud and pretty daughter of an humble artist, takes her to a cottage in the country. pretending that he himself is but a poor peasant, though he had wooed her in the character of a duke. The proud Juliana, after a struggle, yields, and the husband having gained his object, which was to tame her haughty spirit. discloses his true rank, and conducts his bride to his palace. SCENE FROM THE HONEY-MOON. JOHN TOBIN. BALTHAZAR, and VOLANTE, sister of JULIANA. Balthazar. Not yet appareled? Volante. 'Tis her wedding day, sir; On such occasions women claim some grace. Bal. How bears she The coming of her greatness? Vol. Bravely, sir. Instead of the high honors that await her, Enter JULIANA, in her wedding dress. Juliana. Well, sir, what think you? Do I to the life Appear a duchess, or will people say, She does but poorly play a part which nature Never designed her for ?-But, where's the duke? Bal. Not come yet. Jul. How? not come ?-the duke not come? Vol. Patience, sweet sister; oft, without a murmur, It has been his delight to wait for you. Jul. It was his duty.-Man was born to wait Is but a sorry sample of obedience Jul. Ay, sir, obedience! Vol. Why, what a wire-drawn puppet you will make The man you marry!—I suppose, ere long, You'll choose how often he shall walk abroad For recreation; fix his diet for him; Bespeak his clothes, and say on what occasions Jul. Proceed. Vol. Keep all the keys, and, when he bids his friends, Mete out a modicum of wine to each. Had you not better put him in a livery At once, and let him stand behind your chair? A dull domestic drudge, to be abused. "If you think so, my dear ;" and, "As you please;" And, "You know best;"-even when he nothing knows. I have no patience-that a free-born woman Should sink the high tone of her noble nature And give her charter up to make a tyrant! Bal. You talk it most heroically. Pride May be a proper bait to catch a lover, But, trust me, daughter, 'twill not hold a husband. Jul. Leave that to me ;-and what should I have caught, If I had fished with your humility? Some pert apprentice, or rich citizen, Who would have bought me; some poor gentleman, I felt my value, and still kept aloof; Nor stopped my eye till I had met the man, I have conferred an honor on his house, Bal. He comes. Vol. Smooth your brow, sister. Jul. For a man! He must be one not made of mortal clay, then. Enter the DUKE. O! you are come, sir? I have waited for you!— Duke. I do entreat your pardon ;—if you knew Vol. Let me entreat for him. Bal. Come, girl, be kind! Jul. Well, sir, you are forgiven. Duke. You are all goodness; let me on this hand [Taking her hand, which she withdraws Jul. Not yet, sir!-'tis a virgin hand as yet, And my own property;-forbear awhile, [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!-this retired spot Would be a palace for an owl! Duke. 'Tis ours. Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it. Duke. Madam, his is the noble mansion that I spoke of! 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, none, wife. We should have Jul. Are you serious, sir? Duke. As true, 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. None. Jul. Have I been cozened? And have you no estate, sir,- Duke. None but this: A small snug dwelling, and in good repair. Jul. Nor money, nor effects? Duke. None that I know of. 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, 'tis clear. That I was ever born!-What are you, sir? Duke. [Rises.] I am an honest man,—that may content you. Young, nor ill-favored,-should not that content you? I am your husband, and that must content you. Jul. I will go home! Duke. You are at home already. Jul. I'll not endure it!-But remember this Duke, or no duke, I'll be a duchess, sir! [Going [Staying her Duke. A duchess! You shall be a queen,--to all Who, by the courtesy, will call you so. Jul. And I will have attendance ! Duke. So you shall, When you have learned to wait upon yourself. |