And scattered woe where Heaven had planted joy? And death unfeared; while fresh and fadeless youth Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair! Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds Unfold! No language? Everlasting light, And everlasting silence?-Yet the eye May read and understand. The hand of God Has written legibly what man may know THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines, Ineffable, unchangeable; and man, Bound to the surface of this pygmy globe, May know and ask no more. Perchance, amongst those vast, mysterious spheres, And beauty by the hand of Power divine LESSON LXXXV. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. RULE IV. When two questions are connected by the disjunctive or, the first usually has the rising, and the second the falling inflection. EXAMPLES. Did he say goodness, or wisdom? Shall we in your person crówn the author of the public calamities, or shall we destroy him? (Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.) Hubert. HEAT me these irons hot; and look thou stand Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, First Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look to 't. (Exeunt Attendants.) Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. (Enter ARTHUR.) Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good-morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks nobody should be sad but I: Only for wantonness. By my christendom, Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son? Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick; That I might sit all night, and watch with you. I warrant I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now: foolish rheum! (Aside.) Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender, womanish tears. Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Arth. And will you? Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again; And with my hand at midnight held your head, Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? 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 age would do it: Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 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? (Reënter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.) Do as I bid you. 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? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 1 Nor look upon the iron angrily, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Hub. Go stand within; let me alone with him. First Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. (Exeunt Attendants.) 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. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. 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! So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with griefBeing 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 its spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on its head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. |