“You censure not,” said she, “the sun’s bright rays,
When fools imprudent dare the dangerous gaze;
And should a stripling look till he were blind,
You would not justly call the light unkind: 
But is he dead? and am I to suppose
The power of poison in such looks as those?”
She spoke, and pointing to the mirror, cast
A pleased gay glance, and curtsied as she pass’d. 
   My Lord, to whom the poet’s fate was told,
Was much affected, for a man so cold: 
“Dead!” said his lordship, “run distracted, mad! 
Upon my soul I’m sorry for the lad;
And now no doubt th’ obliging world will say
That my harsh usage help’d him on his way: 
What!  I suppose, I should have nursed his muse,
And with champagne have brighten’d up his views;
Then had he made me famed my whole life long,
And stunn’d my ears with gratitude and song. 
Still should the father bear that I regret
Our joint misfortune—­Yes!  I’ll not forget.” 
   Thus they:  —­the father to his grave convey’d
The son he loved, and his last duties paid. 
   “There lies my Boy,” he cried, “of care bereft,
And heaven be praised, I’ve not a genius left: 
No one among ye, sons! is doomed to live
On high-raised hopes of what the Great may give;
None, with exalted views and fortunes mean,
To die in anguish, or to live in spleen: 
Your pious brother soon escaped the strife
Of such contention, but it cost his life;
You then, my sons, upon yourselves depend,
And in your own exertions find the friend.”

TALE VI.

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.

Yes, faith, it is my cousin’s duty to make a curtsy, and say,
“Father, as it please you;” but for all that, cousin, let him
be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say,
“Father, as it pleases me.” 
                          Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing.

He cannot flatter, he! 
An honest mind and plain—­he must speak truth. 
King Lear.

God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another;

you jig, you amble, you nick-name God’s creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. 
          
                                            Hamlet.

What fire is in mine ears?  Can this be true? 
Am I contemn’d for pride and scorn so much? 
                     Much Ado about Nothing.

-------------------------

Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred’s sire,
Was six feet high, and look’d six inches higher;
Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow,
Who knew the man could never cease to know: 
His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,
Had a firm presence and a steady eye;
But with her husband dropp’d her look and tone,
And Jonas ruled unquestion’d and alone. 
   He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,
How pious husbands of their wives were lords;