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The Works of Charles Lamb in Four Volumes, Volume 4 written by Charles Lamb

C >> Charles Lamb >> The Works of Charles Lamb in Four Volumes, Volume 4




_Kath._ I am fortified
With knowledge of self-faults to endure worse wrongs,
If they be wrongs, than he can lay upon me;
Even to look on, and see him sue in earnest,
As now I think he does it but in seeming,
To that ill woman.

_Selby._ Good words, gentle Kate,
And not a thought irreverent of our Widow.
Why, 'twere unmannerly at any time,
But most uncourteous on our wedding-day,
When we should show most hospitable.--Some wine!
[_Wine is brought._

I am for sports. And now I do remember,
The old Egyptians at their banquets placed
A charnel sight of dead men's skulls before them,
With images of cold mortality,
To temper their fierce joys when they grew rampant.
I like the custom well: and ere we crown
With freer mirth the day, I shall propose,
In calmest recollection of our spirits,
We drink the solemn "Memory of the Dead,"--

_Mrs. F._ Or the supposed dead--
[_Aside to him._

_Selby._ Pledge me, good, wife--
[_She fills._
Nay, higher yet, till the brimm'd cup swell o'er,

_Kath._ I catch the awful import of your words;
And, though I could accuse you of unkindness,
Yet as your lawful and obedient wife,
While that name lasts (as I perceive it fading,
Nor I much longer may have leave to use it)
I calmly take the office you impose;
And on my knees, imploring their forgiveness,
Whom I in heaven or earth may have offended,
Exempt from starting tears, and woman's weakness,
I pledge you, sir--the Memory of the Dead!
[_She drinks kneeling._

_Selby._ 'Tis gently and discreetly said, and like
My former loving Kate.

_Mrs. F._ Does he relent? [_Aside._

_Selby._ That ceremony past, we give the day
To unabated sport. And, in requital
Of certain stories and quaint allegories,
Which my rare Widow hath been telling to me
To raise my morning mirth, if she will lend
Her patient hearing, I will here recite
A Parable; and, the more to suit her taste,
The scene is laid in the East.

_Mrs. F._ I long to hear it.
Some tale, to fit his wife. [_Aside._

_Kath._ Now, comes my TRIAL.

_Lucy._ The hour of your deliverance is at hand,
If I presage right. Bear up, gentlest sister.

_Selby._ "The Sultan Haroun"--Stay--O now I have it--
"The Caliph Haroun in his orchards had
A fruit-tree, bearing such delicious fruits,
That he reserved them for his proper gust;
And through the Palace it was Death proclaim'd
To any one that should purloin the same."

_Mrs. F._ A heavy penance for so light a fault--

_Selby._ Pray you, be silent, else you put me out.
"A crafty page, that for advantage watch'd,
Detected in the act a brother page,
Of his own years, that was his bosom friend;
And thenceforth he became that other's lord,
And like a tyrant he demean'd himself,
Laid forced exactions on his fellow's purse;
And when that poor means fail'd, held o'er his head
Threats of impending death in hideous forms;
Till the small culprit on his nightly couch
Dream'd of strange pains, and felt his body writhe
In tortuous pangs around the impaling stake."

_Mrs. F._ I like not this beginning--

_Selby._ Pray you, attend.
"The Secret, like a night-hag, rid his sleeps,
And took the youthful pleasures from his days,
And chased the youthful smoothness from his brow,
That from a rose-cheek'd boy he waned and waned
To a pale skeleton of what he was;
And would have died, but for one lucky chance."

_Kath._ Oh!

_Mrs. F._ Your wife--she faints--some cordial--smell to this.

_Selby._ Stand off. My sister best will do that office.

_Mrs. F._ Are all his tempting speeches come to this?
[_Aside._

_Selby._ What ail'd my wife?

_Kath._ A warning faintness, sir,
Seized on my spirits, when you came to where
You said "a lucky chance." I am better now:
Please you go on.

_Selby._ The sequel shall be brief.

_Kath._ But, brief, or long, I feel my fate hangs on it.
[_Aside._

_Selby._ "One morn the Caliph, in a covert hid,
Close by an arbor where the two boys talk'd,
(As oft, we read, that Eastern sovereigns
Would play the eavesdropper, to learn the truth.
Imperfectly received from mouths of slaves,)
O'erheard their dialogue; and heard enough
To judge aright the cause, and know his cue.
The following day a Cadi was despatch'd
To summon both before the judgment-seat;
The lickerish culprit, almost dead with fear,
And the informing friend, who readily,
Fired with fair promises of large reward,
And Caliph's love, the hateful truth disclosed."

_Mrs. F._ What did the Caliph to the offending boy,
That had so grossly err'd?

_Selby._ His sceptred hand
He forth in token of forgiveness stretch'd,
And clapp'd his cheeks, and courted him with gifts,
And he became once more his favorite page.

_Mrs. F._ But for that other--

_Selby._ He dismissed him straight,
From dreams of grandeur, and of Caliph's love,
To the bare cottage on the withering moor.
Where friends, turn'd fiends, and hollow confidants,
And widows, hide, who in a husband's ear
Pour baneful truths, but tell not all the truth;
And told him not that Robin Halford died
Some moons before _his_ marriage-bells were rung.
Too near dishonor hast thou trod, dear wife,
And on a dangerous cast our fates were set;
But Heav'n, that will'd our wedlock to be blest,
Hath interposed to save it gracious too.
Your penance is--to dress your cheek in smiles,
And to be once again my merry Kate.--
Sister, your hand.
Your wager won makes me a happy man,
Though poorer, Heav'n knows, by a thousand pounds.
The sky clears up after a dubious day.
Widow, your hand. I read a penitence
In this dejected brow; and in this shame
Your fault is buried. You shall in with us,
And, if it please you, taste our nuptial fare:
For, till this moment, I can joyful say,
Was never truly Selby's Wedding Day.