Did I once shake or groan, or act beneath

The dauntless resolution of a king?

Lys. Wine has transported him.
Alex. No, 'tis mere malice.

I was a woman too, at Oxydrace,

When, planting on the walls a scaling ladder,

I mounted, spite of showers of stones, bars, arrows,
And all the lumber which they thundered down.
When you beneath cried out, and spread your arms,
That I should leap among you-did I so?

Lys. Dread sir! the old man knows not what he says.
Alex. Was I a woman, when, like Mercury,

I leaped the walls and flew amidst the foe,

And, like a baited lion, dyed myself

All over in the blood of those bold hunters;

Till spent with toil I battled on my knees,
Plucked forth the darts that made my shield a forest,
And hurled 'em back with most unconquered fury,
Then shining in my arms I sunned the field,
Moved, spoke, and fought, and was myself a war.

Clyt. 'Twas all bravado; for, before you leaped,

You saw that I had burst the gates asunder.

Alex. Oh, that thou wert but once more young and vigorous! That I might strike thee prostrate to the earth,

For this audacious lie, thou feebled dotard!

Clyt. I know the reason why you use me thus:

I saved you from the sword of bold Rhesaces,
Else had your godship slumbered in the dust,

And most ungratefully you hate me for it.

Alex. Hence from the banquet: thus far I forgive thee.
Clyt. First try (for none can want forgiveness more)
To have your own bold blasphemies forgiven,

The shameful riots of a vicious life,

Philotas' murder

Alex. Ha! what said the traitor?

Heph. Clytus, withdraw; Eumenes, force him hence:

He must not tarry: drag him to the door.

Clyt. No, let him send me, if I must be gone,

To Philip, Atalaus, Calisthenes,

To great Parmenio, and his slaughtered sons.

Alex. Give me a javelin.

Heph. Hold, mighty sir!

Lest I at once strike through his heart and thine.

Lys. Oh, sacred sir! have but a moment's patience.

Alex. What! hold my arms! I shall be murdered here,
Like poor Darius, by my barbarous subjects.
Perdiccas, sound our trumpets to the camp;
Call all my soldiers to the court: nay, haste,
For there is treason plotting 'gainst my life,
And I shall perish ere they come to save me.
Where is the traitor?

Clyt. Sure there is none amongst us,
But here I stand-honest Clytus,
Whom the king invited to the banquet.

Alex. Begone to Philip, Atalaus, Calisthenes-
And let bold subjects learn, by thy example,
Not to provoke the patience of their prince.

[Slabs him.

Clyt. The rage of wine is drowned in gushing blood. Oh, Alexander! I have been to blame:

Hate me not after death; for I repent

That I so far have urged your noble nature.

Alex. What's this I hear? say on, my dying soldier.

Clyt. I should have killed myself had I but lived

To be once sober-Now I fall with honor;

My own hands would have brought foul death. Oh, pardon! [Dies. Alex. Then I am lost: what has my vengeance done!

Who is it thou hast slain? Clytus! what was he?

The faithfullest subject, worthiest counsellor,

The bravest soldier, he who saved thy life,
Fighting bareheaded at the river Granick,
And now he has a noble recompense;
For a rash word, spoke in the heat of wine,
The poor, the honest Clytus thou hast slain,
Clytus, thy friend, thy guardian, thy preserver!

From "Alexander the Great."

CAUDLE AND MRS. CAUDLE.

E. STIRLING.

Mrs. Caudle. Caudle dear, you remember how happy dear mother was, when she supped here last?

Caudle. No.

Mrs. Caudle. No! How can you say that? You must have seen it. She's always happier here than anywhere else. Ah, what a temper the dear soul has. I call it a temper of satin-it's so smooth, so easy, and so soft. Nothing puts her out.

Cau. [Aside.] I wish it would-of the world.

Mrs. C. She loves you so--more than her own son, ten times over. Don't you think so? Do answer. Cau. How can I tell?

Mrs. C. Nonsense! you must have seen it. Think of the stewed oysters on Thursday night-that was all dear mother's doings. 'Margaret," says she to me, "it's a cold night-and don't you think dear Mr. Caudle would like something nice before he goes to bed?" [CAUDLE snores.] Do listen to me for five minutes. 'Tisn't often I speak, heaven knows. Then what a fuss she makes when you're out, if your slippers ain't put to the fire for you.

Cau. She's very good!

Mrs. C. I know she is. For six months she's been working a watchpocket for you-with her eyes, dear soul, and at her time of life! And what a cook she is! The dishes she'll make out of nothing. I try hard to follow her.

Cau. [Melancholy.] I know it!

Mrs. C. But she quite beats me. Ah, the many nice little things she'd simmer up for you. I've been thinking-[He coughs.] Ah, that nasty cough, love. I've been thinking-if we would persuade dear mother to come and live with us

Cau. [Pulls his nightcap over his eyes.] Have you?

Mrs. C. What a treasure we would have in her.

Cau. I don't want one.

Mrs. C. You do. The money she'd save us in house-keepingAh, what an eye she has for a joint!

Cau. And a tooth!

Mrs. C. The butcher doesn't walk that could deceive poor mother. Then, again, for poultry-what a finger and thumb she has for a chicken! What a hand, too, for marrow-puddings and pie crust

Cau. Confound pie crust!

Mrs. C. Don't rail at her crust, dear. It's a gift-quite a gift,

and born with her.

Cau. Why wasn't it born with you?

Mrs. C. That's cruel. People can't be born as they like. Dear mother's jams and preserves are beautiful-she'd make it summer all the year round. Her beer, too—oh, her beer! And what nice dogs in a blanket for the children.

Cau. What's dogs in blankets?

Mrs. C. They're delicious, as dear mother makes 'em. [He groans.] Now you have tasted her Irish stew, Caudle. Come, you're not asleep. If she was here, you might have a stew when you liked. What a relief that would be to me. She would make us so happy-no tiffs, then. I can't bear to quarrel-can, I love? The children are so fond

of her, too—and such a nurse-I shouldn't care a fig for the measles. She could sit up for you, too—so I think she'd better come, eh, Caudle, darling? Don't you think she'd better come?

Mrs. C. No! [Noise of carriage and knocking.]

Cau. No, no, no, ma'am !

Mrs. C. [Screaming and sobbing—at the same time ringing a bell.] Caudle-Caudle-she shall come! she's coming-she's come! I've sent

for her.

Cau. She shan't-she shan't stay. If she does, I'm―

[MRS. CAUDLE'S Dear Mother enters, loaded with boxes, bundles, &c., in bonnet and shawl-her face very red.

Mrs. Caudle's Mother. Peggy, my pet-Job, my comfort, I'm come at last. [Embraces CAUDLE violently-he runs behind a large chair. Mrs. C. [Sobbing.] Oh, mother-mother, dear!

Mrs. Caudle's Mother. My lamb! [Runs to her.] What's all this

noration about?

Mrs. C. Ask Cau-Cau-Caudle!

Cau. Ask "Punch."

Mrs. C. No sir, my dear mother shan't make a Judy of herself to please you. I'll punish you the whole world shall hear of my wrongs; and if I live for fifty years every night I'll lecture you.

Mrs. Caudle's Mother. Do-do, my darling, and I'll help. I've come to stop.

Cau. Stop-the deuce! [Rushes out of window—a loud glass crash heard, and noisy voices in the street-MRS. CAUDLE'S MOTHER rushes to window and faints in the balcony-MRS. CAUDLE starts upright on the floor, screaming-at the same time noise of CHILDREN at the doors, calling for "MA" and "PA."

From "Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures.”

THE QUARREL ADJUSTED.

Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.

SHERIDAN.

Captain Absolute. 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed!-Whimsical enough, 'faith! My father wants to force me to marry the very girl I am plotting to run away with! He must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. He has too summary a method of proceeding

in these matters; however, I'll read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something sudden, indeed; but, I can assure him, it is very sincere-So, so, here he comes-he looks plaguy gruff!

Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOlute.

Sir Anthony. No-I'll die sooner than forgive him! Die, did I say? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At our last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of temper-An obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! Who can he take after? This is my return for getting him before all his brothers and sisters! for putting him, at twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever since! But I have done with him-he's anybody's son for me-I never will see him more-never-never

never-never.

Capt. A. Now for a penitential face!
Sir A. Fellow, get out of my way!

Capt. A. Sir, you see a penitent before you.

Sir A. I see an impudent scoundrel before me.

[Aside.

Capt. A. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will.

Sir A. What's that?

Capt. A. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension to me.

Sir A. Well, sir?

Capt. A. I have been likewise weighing and balancing, what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and authority. Sir A. Well, puppy?

Capt. A. Why, then, sir, the result of my reflections is, a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your satisfaction.

Sir A. Why, now you talk sense, absolute sense; I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Confound you! you shall be Jack again.

Capt. A. I am happy in the appellation.

Sir A. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture-prepare! What think you of Miss Lydia Languish ?

Capt. A. Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire? Sir A. Worcestershire! no. Did you never meet Mrs. Malaprop, and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country just before you were last ordered to your regiment?

Capt. A. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever to have heard the names before. Yet, stay, I think I do recollect somethingLanguish-Languish-She squints, don't she?-A little red-haired