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Läsebok. N:o 62—63.
23
Presides o’er bis happiness, /ionour, and health;
Is the prop of his /fouse, and the end of his wealtfc;
Jt begins every hope, ev’ry wisA it must bound;
Aud though unassuming, with mon arc/is is crown’d,
In the heaps of the miser it is hoarded with care;
But is sure to be lost in the prodigal heir.
Without it the soldier and sailor may roam;
But woe to the wretch that expels it from home!
In the wMspers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e’er in the whirlwind of passions be drown’d.
It softens the heart, and though deaf to the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear.
But in shades let it rest, like an elegant flower;
Oh! breathe on it softly — it dies in an 7&our!
Lord Byron.
37. How Bad News are to be communicated.
Scene: The rooms of Mr G., at Oxford.
(Enter to hirn his father’s steward.)
Mr. G. Ha, Jervas, how are you, my old boy? How
do things go on at home?
Steivard. Bad enough, your Honour, the magpie’s dead.
Mr. G. Poor Mag! So he is gone. How came he
to die?
Steward. Over-ate himself, sir.
Mr. G. Did he, faith! A greedy dog! Why, what did
he get, that he liked so well?
Steward. Horse-flesh, sir! He died of eating horse-flesh.
Mr. G. How came he to get so much horse-flesh?
Steivard. All your father’s horses, sir.
Mr. G. What, are they dead too?
Steivard. Ay, sir, they died of overwork.
Mr. G. And why where they overworked, pray?
Steward. To carry water, sir.
Mr. G. To carry water? And what were they carrying
Avater for?
Steward. Sure, sir, to put out the fire.
Mr. G. Fire! WThat fire?
Steward. Oh, sir, your father’s house is burnt down to
the ground.
Mr. G. My father’s house burnt down! And how came
it to take fire?
Steward. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.
Mr. G. Torches! What torches?
Steivard. At your mother’s funeral.
Mr. G. My mother dead!
Steward. Ah, poor lady! She never looked up after it.
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