K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away.

[Exeunt.

GARDEN SCENE IN ROMEO AND JULIET.-Shakspeare. Romeo. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

[Juliet appears above, at a window.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my love;

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that!
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me it speaks :
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her

eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head,
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As day-light doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Juliet. Ay me!

Romeo. She speaks :

O speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

T

Juliet. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name :
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called;
Retain that dear perfection which owes,
Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

A MAN OF MERIT RECOMMENDED AS A HUSBAND.— Vanburgh and Cibber.

Lord Townly. So, lady fair, what pretty weapon have you been killing your time with?

Lady Grace. A huge folio, that has almost killed meI think I have read half my eyes out.

Lord T. Oh! you should not pore so much just after dinner, child.

Lady G. That's true; but any body's thoughts are always better than one's own, you know.

Lord T. Not always, dear! By the way, I am at home this morning to nobody but Mr Manly.

Lady G. And why is he excepted, my lord?

Lord T. I hope, madam, you have no objection to his company?

Lady G. Your particular orders, upon my being here, look, indeed, as if you thought I had not.

Lord T. And your ladyship's inquiry into the reason of those orders, shows, at least, it was not a matter indifferent to you.

Lady G. Dear me, you make the oddest constructions, brother!

Lord T. Look you, my grave Lady Grace

serious word, I wish you had him.

Lady G. I cannot help that.

-in one

Lord T. Ha! you can't help it; ha, ha! the flat simplicity of that reply was admirable!

Lady G. Pooh, you tease one, brother!

Lord T. Come, I beg pardon, child-this is not a point, I grant you, to trifle upon; therefore, I hope you'll give me leave to be serious.

Lady G. If you desire it, brother; though, upon my word, as to Mr Manly's having any serious thoughts of me -I know nothing of it.

Lord T. Well there's nothing wrong in your making a doubt of it. But, in short, I find by his conversation of late, that he has been looking round the world for a wife; and if you were to look round the world for a husband, he is the first man I should give to you.

Lady G. Then, whenever he makes me any offer, brother, I will certainly tell you of it.

Lord T. Oh! that's the last thing he'll do: he'll never make you or any other an offer, till he's pretty sure it won't be refused.

Lady G. Now you make me curious. Pray, did he ever make any offer of that kind to you?

Lord T. Not directly; but that imports nothing: he is a man too well acquainted with the female world, to be brought into a high opinion of any one woman, without some well-examined proof of her merit; yet I have reason to believe that your good sense, your turn of mind, and your way of life, have brought him to so favourable a one of you, that a few days will reduce him to talk plainly to me; which as yet (notwithstanding our friendship) I have neither declined nor encouraged him to.

Lady G. I am mighty glad we are so similar in our way of thinking; for, to tell the truth, he is much upon the same terms with me: you know he has a satirical turn; but never lashes any folly, without due encomiums to its opposite virtue and upon such occasions, he is sometimes particular in turning his compliments upon me, which I don't receive with any reserve, lest he should imagine I take them to myself.

Lord T. You are right, child; when a man of merit makes his addresses, good sense may give him an answer without scorn or coquetry.-Provoked Husband.

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOULFrom the Tragedy of Cato, by Addison.

It must be so— -Plato, thou reasonest well!
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?—
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

"Tis Heaven itself that points out-a hereafter,
And intimates-Eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works), He must delight in virtue :
And that which He delights in must be happy.

But when? or where? This world--was made for Cæsar?
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

SIR PETER AND LADY TEAZLE.-Sheridan.

Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I won't bear it. L. Teazle. Very well, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, just as you please; but I know I ought to have my own way in every thing; and what's more, I will.

Sir Pet. What, madam! is there no respect due to the authority of a husband?

L. Teaz. Why, don't I know that no woman of fashion does as she is bid after her marriage. Though I was bred in the country, I'm no stranger to that: if you wanted me to be obedient, you should have adopted me, and not mar→ ried me I'm sure you were old enough.

Sir Pet. Ay, there it is-madam, what right have you to run into all this extravagance?

L. Teaz. I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of quality ought to be.

Sir Pet. Madam, I'll have no more suras squandered away upon such unmeaning luxuries: you have as many flowers in your dressing-rooms as would turn the Pantheon into a green-house.

L. Teaz. La, Sir Peter, am I to blame that flowers don't blow in cold weather? you must blame the climate and not me. I'm sure, for my part, I wish it were spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet.

Sir Pet. Madam, I should not wonder at your extravagance if you had been bred to it. Had you any of these things before married me?

you

L. Teaz. Dear, Sir Peter, how can you be angry at those little elegant expenses?

Sir Pet. Had you any of those little elegant expenses when you married me?

L. Teaz. Very true, indeed; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again.

Sir Pet. Very well, very well, madam; you have entirely forgot what your situation was when I first saw you.

L. Teaz. No, no, I have not; a very disagreeable situation it was, or I'm sure I never would have married you.

Sir Pet. You forget the humble state I took you fromthe daughter of a poor country 'squire. When I came to your father's, I found you sitting at your tambour, in a linen gown, a bunch of keys at your side, and your hair combed smoothly over a roll.

L. Teaz. Yes, I remember very well; my daily occupations were to overlook the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lapdog.