'Tis Pedro-no, Diego,-a dark Spaniard; CESARIO. I know him, yet not well. He could not be so base. My uncle was PRINCE. I thought the world Was not so bad. Now listen, Cesario, CESARIO. It sends a terrible sound, indeed, my lord. PRINCE. This man petitioned for his life. He said That he had sworn to act a horrid deed And came to make disclosure. The great lord PRINCE. The culprit said A youth on whom this lord had lavished wealth To those divinest whispers which the soul CESARIO. Oh! he deserved PRINCE. We'll talk of that hereafter. Well, this bad man whose mind was spotted thus- Had sworn to murder this his friend. CESARIO. My lord! PRINCE. I see it pains you. Yes, for the sake of gold, He would have slain his old and faithful friend, Had spurned the few gray locks that time had left CESARIO. Are you sure? PRINCE. The plan was this: They were to bind him fast (To slay him here were dangerous) and transport His body to some lonely place. CESARIO. What-place? PRINCE. I'll tell you, for I once Was housed there through a storm: A castle stands A murder once was done there, and e'er since It has been desolate; 'tis bleak, and stands Moan and make music through its halls, and there But all's a waste; for miles and miles around CESARIO. It's near the eastward foot Of Etna, where Muralto's villa stands? PRINCE. Yes, yes; well guessed. I see you know the spot. Now, dear Cesario, couldst thou think a man, Setting aside all ties, could do a deed Of blackness there? Why, it's within the reach Of Etna, and some thirty years ago (The last eruption), when the lava rivers Went flaming toward that point, this dwelling stood And saw the bright fires stream along, when they CESARIO. Sir, no more! PRINCE. Fancy, Cesario, in this desolate house, How ghastly the poor murdered wretch would look,His hanging head and useless neck, his old Affectionate heart that beats so fondly, now I could not kill Like a stilled instrument. A dog that loved me; could you? CESARIO. No, sir,-no. PRINCE. Why, how you tremble! PRINCE. Yet might it have been true. PRINCE. Hope! That hope is past. How will the Spaniard look, Think you, Cesario, when the question comes Home to his heart? In truth, he could not look More pale than you are now, Cesario! The eye of God has been upon him. CESARIO. Yes, I hope————— PRINCE. Beware. CESARIO. My lord! PRINCE. Beware, how you curse him; for he is loaded heavily. Sin and fierce wishes plague him, and the world Will stamp its malediction on his head, And God and man disown him. CESARIO. Oh, no more! No more, my dearest lord! Behold me here, PRINCE. Rise. I forgive. The ingratitude to me; but men like you Base, common, bribed stabbers-must not roam About the world so freely. CESARIO. Oh! that now you could but see my heart. PRINCE. I would not see your bosom's base and black in habitant. Now listen to me again; speak not, but listen. This is a different tale, Cesario! When first you came to Sicily, you were CESARIO. You have been most kind,-too kind. PRINCE. Once, 'twas in terrible sickness, when none else Would tread your infectious chamber (think on that), I, though your prince CESARIO. In pity! PRINCE. Hear me speak. I gave that healing medicine to your lips, And was your nurse through many a sultry night; For you were quite abandoned CESARIO. Quite, quite, quite! PRINCE. Time passed, and you recovered, and could use Your sword again. You tried it 'gainst my blood (My nephew then), and I forgave it. CESARIO. That was in the heat of quarrel. PRINCE. I have said that I forgave it. Then a most mean wish (You wished my wealth) possessed you. I could never, I own it, have guessed at that. CESARIO. O sir, not so. PRINCE. Well, then, it was not; but Aurelia's charms (That cunning Phryne) have o'erwhelmed your sense, All gratitude and good being gone. CESARIO. My lord! my father! me. I Oh, once more believe Do not deserve you should, but if you can Now, for my mind has grown within this hour PRINCE. Cesario, hear me, Hear and forget now what your old friend says. You can not have the heart (I know you have one) His absolute pardon. 'Twas a weight that he Cesario, thus From my soul I now forgive you. PRINCE. What, ho! Cesario, faint not. Why, thou'rt weaker now Than when Aurelia kissed your lip, and won Your soul to sin. Come,-nay, there's no one knows And talk as we were wont. CESARIO. A little time, my lord, and I may thank you. Now, if I Might dare to ask it, I would fain retire, And dwell on all your goodness. PRINCE. Farewell, then. CESARIO. My noble prince, rest soundly; you have gained Cesario's soul twice over. If a knave Should say I wrong you now, believe him not. If I myself should swear I was your foe, I thank you. Dearest father, look upon Your prodigal son. Thanks-from my heart. PRINCE. Farewell, farewell, Cesario. Nay, compose your self. Now go. Farewell, farewell. WHO SHOULD WIPE THE DISHES. MARY KELLY. "Dously, as he tied the strings of the kitchen apron ON'T you think, Minerva," said Mr. Backenstots, anx firmly around his waist, and tucked his whiskers carefully behind the bib to keep them out of the dishwater, "don't you think that we are carrying this idea of cooperation in domestic matters to extremes? I have been washing dishes for a week now, and between times I have been doing a little scriptural reading, and I can't find in the Bible any authority for men doing kitchen work. On the other hand, women are frequently spoken of in this connection: 'She looketh well to the ways of her household,'' She worketh willingly with her hands,'' She riseth while it is yet night and giveth meat to her household.' These quotations, Minerva, would seem to war |