I never meant you harm in any way.

See, I can say no more.

El. Will you not say you are not married to him?
Ros. Ay, madam, I can say it, if you will.

El. Then thou art a proven wanton?

I am none such. I never loved but one.

I have heard of such that range from love to love,
Like the wild beast if you can call it love.

I have heard of such

- yea, even among those Who sit on thrones-I never saw any such, Never knew any such, and howsoever

You do misname me, match'd with any such,
I am snow to mud.

Fitzurse. Give her to me.

El. The Judas-lover of our passion-play Hath track'd us hither.

Fitz. Well, why not? I follow'd

You and the child; he babbled all the way.
Give her to me to make my honeymoon.
Come to me, love,

And I will love thee. Madam, let her live;
I have a far-off burrow where the King
Would miss her and forever.

El. How sayst thou, sweetheart?

Wilt thou go with him? He will marry thee.

Ros. Give me the poison; set me free of him!
[ELEANOR offers the vial.]

No, no! I will not have it.

El.

Then this other,

The wiser choice, because my sleeping-draught
May bloat thy beauty out of shape, and make
Thy body loathsome even to thy child;
While this but leaves thee with a broken heart,
A doll-face blanch'd and bloodless, over which,
If pretty Geoffrey do not break his own,

It must be broken for him.

Ros.

OI see now

Your purpose is to fright me - a troubadour,
You play with words. You had never used so many,
Not if you meant it, I am sure. The child —
No mercy! No!

El. Play! That bosom never

Heaved under the King's hand with such true passion

As at this loveless knife that stirs the riot,

Which it will quench in blood! Slave, if he love thee
Thy life is worth the wrestle for it. Arise,
And dash thyself against me that I may slay thee!
The worm; shall I let her go? But ha! what's here?
By very God, the cross I gave the King!
His village darling in some sly caress

Has wheedled it off the King's neck to her own.
By thy leave, beauty. Ay, the same! I warrant
Thou hast sworn on this, my cross, a hundred times
Never to leave him and that merits death,
False oath on holy cross for thou must leave him
To-day, but not quite yet. My good Fitzurse,
The running down the chase is kindlier sport

Ev'n than the death. Who knows but that thy lover

May plead so pitifully, that I may spare thee?

Come hither, man; stand there. [To ROSAMUND.] Take thy one

chance;

Catch at the last straw. Kneel to thy lord Fitzurse;

Crouch even because thou hatest him; fawn upon him

For thy life and thy son's.

Ros. [rising].

My son a Clifford and Plantagenet.

I am a Clifford,

I am to die, then, tho' there stand beside thee
One who might grapple with thy dagger, if he
Had aught of man, or thou of woman; or I
Would bow to such baseness as would make me
Most worthy of it; both of us will die,

And I will fly with my sweet boy to heaven,
And shriek to all the saints among the stars:
"Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor of England!
Murdered by that adulteress, Eleanor,

Whose doings are a horror to the east,
A hissing in the west!" Strike!

I challenge thee to meet me before God.
Answer me there.

El. [raising the dagger.] This in thy bosom, fool!

[Enter BECKET from behind. Catches hold of her arm.]
Becket. Murderess!

[The dagger falls; they stare at one another. After a pause:] El. My lord, we know you proud of your fine hand,

But having now admired it long enough,

We find that it is mightier than it seems

At least mine own is frailer - you are laming it.

Becket. And lamed and maim'd to dislocation, better

Than raised to take a life which Henry bade me
Guard from the stroke that dooms thee after death
To wail in deathless flame. [To ROSAMUND.]
Daughter, the world hath trick'd thee.

Leave it, daughter,
Come thou with me to Godstow nunnery,

And live what may be left thee of a life
Saved as by miracle alone with Him
Who gave it.

Lord Tennyson.

COLUMBUS

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.

Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?"

"Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.

"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day,

Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.

These very winds forget their way,

For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say "
He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate:
This mad sea shows its teeth to-night.

He curls his lip, he lies in wait,

With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt as a leaping sword:

"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck

A light! A light! A light! A light!

It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world.
Its grandest lesson: "On and on!"

-Joaquin Miller.

LORRAINE

"Are you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?
You're booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee,
You're booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see,
To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me."

She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree. "I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see,

And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee; He's killed a boy, he 's killed a man, and why must he kill me?"

"Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree, Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee,

And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me, It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no keep from me."

"That husbands could be cruel," said Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree, "That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three; But oh! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me, And be killed across a fence at last, for all the world to see?"

She mastered young Vindictive-oh! the gallant lass was she! And she kept him straight, and won the race, as near as near could be;

But he killed her at the brook against a pollard willow tree,
Oh! he killed her at the brook the brute! - for all the world

to see,

And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorree.

- Charles Kingsley.

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown:
You thought to break a country heart

For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired:
The daughter of a hundred earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name,
Your pride is yet no mate for mine,
Too proud to care from whence I came.