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Her face was like the April morn,

Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay.cold was her lily-hand

That held the sable shroud.
So shall the fairest face appear

When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear

When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower

That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,

And opening to the view.

But Love had, like the canker-worm,

Consumed her early prime; The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;

She died before her time. Awake! (she cried) thy true love calls,

Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid

Thy love refused to save : “ This is the dark and fearful hour .

When injured ghosts complain ; Now dreary graves give up their dead,

To haunt the faithless swain, “ Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Thy pledge, and broken oath; And give me back my maiden vow,

And give me back my troth. “ How could you say my face was fair,

And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin-heart,

Yet leave that heart to break ?

“ How could you promise love to me,

And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear my eyes were bright,

Yet leave those eyes to weep?
“How could you say my lip was sweet,

And made the scarlet pale ?
And why did I, young witless maid,

Believe the flattering tale ?
“ That face, alas ! no more is fair,

That lip no longer red ;
Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,

And every charm is filed.

“ The hungry worm my sister is ;

This winding-sheet I wear;
And cold and weary lasts our night

Till that last morn appear.

" But hark! the cock has warned me hence :

A long and last adieu !
Come see, false man ! how low she lies

That died for love of you.”
Now birds did sing, and morning smile,

And shew her glittering head :
Pale William shook in every limb,

Then raving left his bed. He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay, And stretched him on the green-grass turf,

That wrapt her breathless clay :
That thrice he called on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore :
Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,

And word spoke never more.

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. Most potent, grave, and reverend Signiors, My very noble and approved good masters ; That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true ; true, I have married her ; The very head and front of my offending . Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of peace; For, since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broils and battles ; And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience, I will a round unvarnished tale deliver Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceedings I am charged withal) I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me, Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have past.I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances ; Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach ; Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch

heaven,

It was my hint to speak.-All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse : which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.
She said, in truth, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ;
”Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful-
She wished she had not heard it yet she wished
That heaven had made her such a man:-she thanked me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had past;
And I loved her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.

THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR. A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,

Who was esteemed a mighty wit,

Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes
In bullying, bantering, brow-beating,
Ridiculing and maltreating

Women, or other timid folks ;
In a late cause resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer- one

Who by his uncouth look and gait,

Appeared expressly meant by Fate,
For being quizzed and played upon.
So having tipped the wink to those

In the back rows,
Who kept their laughter bottled down,

Until our wag should draw the cork,
He smiled jocosely on the clown,

And went to work. Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York ?"

“ Why-not, Sir, as they do with you,

But on four legs instead of two."
“ Officer !” cried the legal elf,
Piqued at the laugh against himself,

Do pray keep silence down below there;
Now, look at me, clown, and attend,
Have I not seen you somewhere, friend?

“Yees- very like-I often go there.”
“Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic,"
The counsel cried with grin sardonic.-
“ I wish I'd known this prodigy,
This genius of the clods when I

On circuit was at York residing.
Now, Farmer, do for once speak true,
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you
Who doubtless think yourself so clever, ·
Are there as many fools as ever

In the West Riding ?”
“Why no, Sir, no; we've got our share,
But not so many as when you were there.”

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