. Plays and poems . e love of to mount the heights of — Lo ! there she stands, a self-made infidelTo Grecian Sappho and that lovely twainThat sang in Englands front. O for a blushThat would not fade, that shame might never downFrom that apostate — Pity me then ; Or make the golden rule the golden deedAnd turn me going. 224 HosTKSS.— Yet not unchallenged Shall you deny the sex. O dear, my friends,Even as twilight falls come this day week,And I shall answer this unkindest chargeAnd make misjudgment more than judgment yield. IvT. Woman.—O doubt us no
. Plays and poems . e love of to mount the heights of — Lo ! there she stands, a self-made infidelTo Grecian Sappho and that lovely twainThat sang in Englands front. O for a blushThat would not fade, that shame might never downFrom that apostate — Pity me then ; Or make the golden rule the golden deedAnd turn me going. 224 HosTKSS.— Yet not unchallenged Shall you deny the sex. O dear, my friends,Even as twilight falls come this day week,And I shall answer this unkindest chargeAnd make misjudgment more than judgment yield. IvT. Woman.—O doubt us not. Harriet.— Then come : Im sure each guest Has spent a pleasant evening ; for myself, most so. Hostess.—I live to receive my friends ; my friendsmake it my choice. Come out beneath the palms ; mid-summers twilight long lingers the parting guest. CivAUDius.—{Aside) She moves with the arch of beauty on her browAnd in untroubled youth ; and I, who loveThe very name of woman, must love the truth. [ 225 ACT II. Scene i.—A public square. Enter Burke and Curtis. BuRKK.—Mark you, Curtis, here is a familiar spiritwho, since he must be beaten by brains, will have them his own. Enter Todd. Well, Dugal, shall you pluck that gildedhonor? One of our papers, Curtis, has offered an hand-some sum for a novel polling the maj or vote of its literarycommittee, at which prize Todd has made his endeavor. —Gentlemen, you see before you an illustriouspoet and novelist made in the image of himself, yet, as Imake literature, oer-crowed by neither an author nor theson of an author. Ah, gentlemen, the god and the dreamhave come to a sad pass since the hope of Americanletters rests with one man and that man living from debitto dun. BuRKK.—Well, nothing succeeds but success, youknow—in literature. Todd.—O I shall keep my injury rolling till tis biggerthan a church door and grosser than the nose act, I meanthe riot act. Why, what a thing it is, gentlemen, that abook s
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