Lentas caricias/Fantasías en el dormitorio (Pasión) (Spanish Edition)

Blaine had, as usual, retired for the evening to his private library. He could not reconcile himself to her beauty, that was mother to his own, the exquisite neck and shoulders, the grace of a fortunate woman of thirty. I heard strange music and the flare of barbaric trumpets what? I am not understood, Amory. He put his arm around his mother, rubbing his head gently against her shoulder. Did you have two horrible years? I adapted myself to the bourgeoisie.

Everybody in Minneapolis is going to go away to school. If you still want to, you can go to school. It seems my fate to fret away my years in this country. She would not have appreciated the Japanese invasion. He wants to see you. He went to Harrow and then to Yale became a Catholic. There were Andover and Exeter with their memories of New England dead large, college-like democracies; St. The metropolis, barely glimpsed, made little impression on him, except for the sense of cleanliness he drew from the tall white buildings seen from a Hudson River steamboat in the early morning.

Indeed, his mind was so crowded with dreams of athletic prowess at school that he considered this visit only as a rather tiresome prelude to the great adventure. This, however, it did not prove to be.

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Monsignor was forty-four then, and bustling a trifle too stout for symmetry, with hair the color of spun gold, and a brilliant, enveloping personality. When he came into a room clad in his full purple regalia from thatch to toe, he resembled a Turner sunset, and attracted both admiration and attention.

He had written two novels: He was intensely ritualistic, startlingly dramatic, loved the idea of God enough to be a celibate, and rather liked his neighbor. In the proper land and century he might have been a Richelieu at present he was a very moral, very religious if not particularly pious clergyman, making a great mystery about pulling rusty wires, and appreciating life to the fullest, if not entirely enjoying it. He and Amory took to each other at first sight the jovial, impressive prelate who could dazzle an embassy ball, and the green-eyed, intent youth, in his first Spanish anti-catholic: Like English and history.

Scott Fitzgerald 27 Irish people quite charming, and that it should, by all means, be one of his principal biasses. This turned out to be the Honorable Thornton Hancock, of Boston, ex-minister to The Hague, author of an erudite history of the Middle Ages and the last of a distinguished, patriotic, and brilliant family. He was quite radiant and gave off a peculiar brightness and charm. Monsignor called out the best that he had thought by question and suggestion, and Amory talked with an ingenious brilliance of a thousand impulses and desires and repulsions and faiths and fears.

He and Monsignor held the floor, and the older man, with his less receptive, less accepting, yet certainly not colder mentality, seemed content to listen and bask in the mellow sunshine that played between these two. Monsignor gave the effect of sunlight to many people; Amory gave it in his youth and, to some extent, when he was very much older, but never again was it quite so mutually spontaneous. Fiado, se encargado, confiado, encomendado. Not that the conversation was scholastic heaven forbid! No one person in the world is necessary to you or to me.

We have no Eton to create the self-consciousness of a governing class; we have, instead, clean, flaccid and innocuous preparatory schools. He went all wrong at the start, was generally considered both conceited and arrogant, and universally detested. He played football intensely, alternating a reckless brilliancy with a tendency to keep himself as safe from hazard as decency would permit. In a wild panic he backed out of a fight with a boy his own size, to a chorus of scorn, and a week later, in desperation, picked a battle with another boy very much bigger, from which he emerged badly beaten, but rather proud of himself.

He was resentful against all those in authority over him, and this, combined with a lazy indifference toward his work, exasperated every master in school. Scott Fitzgerald 29 He grew discouraged and imagined himself a pariah; took to sulking in corners and reading after lights. With a dread of being alone he attached a few friends, but since they were not among the elite of the school, he used them simply as mirrors of himself, audiences before which he might do that posing absolutely essential to him.

He was unbearably lonely, desperately unhappy. It had pleased him to be the lightest and youngest man on the first football squad; it pleased him when Doctor Dougall told him at the end of a heated conference that he could, if he wished, get the best marks in school. But Doctor Dougall was wrong. It was temperamentally impossible for Amory to get the best marks in school. But at Christmas he had returned to Minneapolis, tight-lipped and strangely jubilant. You ought to go away to school, Froggy.

Margotson, the senior master, sent word to study hall that Amory was to come to his room at nine. Amory suspected that advice was forthcoming, but he determined to be courteous, because this Mr. Margotson had been kindly disposed toward him. His summoner received him gravely, and motioned him to a chair.

I think you have in you the makings of a a very good man. He hated having people talk as if he were an admitted failure. He rose from his chair, scarcely controlling his voice when he spoke. In the cool air outside, as he walked to his house, he exulted in his refusal to be helped. When they walked down the aisle of the theatre, greeted by the nervous twanging and discord of untuned violins and the sensuous, heavy fragrance of paint and powder, he moved in a sphere of epicurean delight. Cohan, and there was one stunning young brunette who made him sit with brimming eyes in the ecstasy of watching her dance.

Oh, to fall in love like that, to the languorous magic melody of such a tune! Amory was on fire to be an habitui of roof-gardens, to meet a girl who should look like that better, that very girl; whose hair would be drenched with golden moonlight, while at his elbow sparkling wine was poured by an unintelligible waiter. When the curtain fell for the last time he gave such a long sigh that the people in front of him twisted around and stared and said loud enough for him to hear: The former was the first to speak. Amory was distinctly impressed.

He wished he had said it instead of Paskert. It sounded so mature. New faces flashed on and off like myriad lights, pale or rouged faces, tired, yet sustained by a weary excitement.

Tempestad de deseo / Fantasías virtuales

Amory watched them in fascination. He was planning his life. He was going to live in New York, and be known at every restaurant and cafi, wearing a dress-suit from early evening to early morning, sleeping away the dull hours of the forenoon. The game with Groton was played from three of a snappy, exhilarating afternoon far into the crisp autumnal twilight, and Amory at quarter-back, Spanish actresses: Scott Fitzgerald 33 exhorting in wild despair, making impossible tackles, calling signals in a voice that had diminished to a hoarse, furious whisper, yet found time to revel in the blood-stained bandage around his head, and the straining, glorious heroism of plunging, crashing bodies and aching limbs.

For those minutes courage flowed like wine out of the November dusk, and he was the eternal hero, one with the sea-rover on the prow of a Norse galley, one with Roland and Horatius, Sir Nigel and Ted Coy, scraped and stripped into trim and then flung by his own will into the breach, beating back the tide, hearing from afar the thunder of cheers He was changed as completely as Amory Blaine could ever be changed. Amory plus Beatrice plus two years in Minneapolis these had been his ingredients when he entered St.

Those qualities for which he had suffered, his moodiness, his tendency to pose, his laziness, and his love of playing the fool, were now taken as a matter of course, recognized eccentricities in a star quarter-back, a clever actor, and the editor of the St. The night of the pre-holiday dance he slipped away and went early to bed for the pleasure of hearing the violin music cross the grass and come surging in at his window. Many nights he lay there dreaming awake of secret cafis in Mont Martre, where ivory women delved in romantic mysteries with diplomats and soldiers of fortune, while orchestras played Hungarian waltzes and the air was thick and exotic with intrigue and moonlight and adventure.

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He moved his bed so that the sun would wake him at dawn that he might dress and go out to the archaic swing that hung from an apple-tree near the sixth-form house. Seating himself in this he would pump higher and higher until he got the effect of swinging into the wide air, into a fairy-land of piping satyrs and nymphs with the faces of fair-haired girls he passed in the streets of Eastchester. As the swing reached its highest point, Arcady really lay just over the brow of a certain hill, where the brown road dwindled out of sight in a golden dot.

Phillips Oppenheim complete, and a scattering of Tennyson and Kipling. As June drew near, he felt the need of conversation to formulate his own ideas, and, to his surprise, found a co-philosopher in Rahill, the president of the sixth form. I want to get where everybody does their own work and I can tell people where to go. What makes you one? The slicker was goodlooking or clean-looking; he had brains, social brains, that is, and he used all means on the broad path of honesty to get ahead, be popular, admired, and never in trouble.

He dressed well, was particularly neat in appearance, and derived his name from the fact that his hair was inevitably worn short, soaked in water or tonic, parted in the middle, and slicked back as the current of fashion dictated. The slickers of that year had adopted tortoise-shell spectacles as badges of their slickerhood, and this made them so easy to recognize that Amory and Rahill never missed one. The slicker seemed distributed through school, always a little wiser and shrewder than his contemporaries, managing some team or other, and keeping his cleverness carefully concealed.

Amory found the slicker a most valuable classification until his junior year in college, when the outline became so blurred and indeterminate that it had to be subdivided many times, and became only a quality. Scott Fitzgerald 37 This was a first real break from the hypocrisy of school tradition. Clever sense of social values.

Inclined to stupidity and unconscious of social values. Thinks dress is superficial, and is inclined to be careless about it. Goes into such activities as he can shine in. Goes out for everything from a sense of duty. Gets to college and is, in a worldly way, successful. Gets to college and has a problematical future.

Feels lost without his circle, and always says that school days were happiest, after all. Goes back to school and makes speeches about what St. Amory had decided definitely on Princeton, even though he would be the only boy entering that year from St.

Yale had a romance and glamour from the tales of Minneapolis, and St. Years afterward, when he went back to St. Gradually he realized that he was really walking up University Place, self-conscious about his suitcase, developing a new tendency to glare straight ahead when he passed any one.

Several times he could have sworn that men turned to look at him critically. He wondered vaguely if there was something the matter with his clothes, and wished he had shaved that morning on the train. He felt unnecessarily stiff and awkward among these white-flannelled, bareheaded youths, who must be juniors and seniors, judging from the savoir faire with which they strolled.

He found that 12 University Place was a large, dilapidated mansion, at present apparently uninhabited, though he knew it housed usually a dozen freshmen. After a hurried skirmish with his landlady he sallied out on a tour of exploration, but he had gone scarcely a block when he became horribly conscious that he must be the only man in town who was wearing a hat. He returned hurriedly to 12 University, left his derby, and, emerging bareheaded, loitered down Nassau Street, stopping to investigate a display of athletic photographs in Spanish athletic: This sounded familiar, so he sauntered in and took a seat on a high stool.

After a cursory inspection of the pillow-cases, leather pennants, and Gibson Girls that lined the walls, he left, and continued along Nassau Street with his hands in his pockets. Gradually he was learning to distinguish between upper classmen and entering men, even though the freshman cap would not appear until the following Monday. Those who were too obviously, too nervously at home were freshmen, for as each train brought a new contingent it was immediately absorbed into the hatless, white-shod, book-laden throng, whose function seemed to be to drift endlessly up and down the street, emitting great clouds of smoke from brand-new pipes.

By afternoon Amory realized that now the newest arrivals were taking him for an upper classman, and he tried conscientiously to look both pleasantly blasi and casually critical, which was as near as he could analyze the prevalent facial expression. Having climbed the rickety stairs he scrutinized his room resignedly, concluding that it was hopeless to attempt any more inspired decoration than class banners and tiger pictures. There was a tap at the door. Twelve, or whatever she goes by, has one. Have to sit around and study for something to do.

I had a cousin there. This was followed by an indistinguishable song that included much stamping and then by an endless, incoherent dirge. The great tapestries of trees had darkened to ghosts back at the last edge of twilight. The early moon had drenched the arches with pale blue, and, weaving over the night, in and out of the gossamer rifts of moon, swept a song, a song with more than a hint of sadness, infinitely transient, infinitely regretful.

The song soared so high that all dropped out except the tenors, who bore the melody triumphantly past the danger-point and relinquished it to the fantastic chorus. Then Amory opened his eyes, half afraid that sight would spoil the rich illusion of harmony. There at the head of the white platoon marched Allenby, the football captain, slim and defiant, as if aware that this year the hopes of the college rested on him, that his hundred-and-sixty pounds were expected to dodge to victory through the heavy blue and crimson lines.

Fascinated, Amory watched each rank of linked arms as it came abreast, the faces indistinct above the polo shirts, the voices blent in a fan of triumph and then the procession passed through shadowy Campbell Arch, and the voices grew fainter as it wound eastward over the campus. Columpiado, pret y pp de swing. Scott Fitzgerald 45 The minutes passed and Amory sat there very quietly.

He regretted the rule that would forbid freshmen to be outdoors after curfew, for he wanted to ramble through the shadowy scented lanes, where Witherspoon brooded like a dark mother over Whig and Clio, her Attic children, where the black Gothic snake of Little curled down to Cuyler and Patton, these in turn flinging the mystery out over the placid slope rolling to the lake. From the first he loved Princeton its lazy beauty, its half-grasped significance, the wild moonlight revel of the rushes, the handsome, prosperous big-game crowds, and under it all the air of struggle that pervaded his class.

From the day when, wild-eyed and exhausted, the jerseyed freshmen sat in the gymnasium and elected some one from Hill School class president, a Lawrenceville celebrity vice-president, a hockey star from St. From the moment he realized this Amory resented social barriers as artificial distinctions made by the strong to bolster up their weak retainers and keep out the almost strong.

Having decided to be one of the gods of the class, he reported for freshman football practice, but in the second week, playing quarter-back, already paragraphed in corners of the Princetonian, he wrenched his knee seriously Spanish aspiration: This forced him to retire and consider the situation. The Holidays were rumored twins, but really the dark-haired one, Kerry, was a year older than his blond brother, Burne. Kerry was tall, with humorous gray eyes, and a sudden, attractive smile; he became at once the mentor of the house, reaper of ears that grew too high, censor of conceit, vendor of rare, satirical humor.

Amory spread the table of their future friendship with all his ideas of what college should and did mean. Kerry, not inclined as yet to take things seriously, chided him gently for being curious at this inopportune time about the intricacies of the social system, but liked him and was both interested and amused.

Burne, fair-haired, silent, and intent, appeared in the house only as a busy apparition, gliding in quietly at night and off again in the early morning to get up his work in the library he was out for the Princetonian, competing furiously against forty others for the coveted first place. In December he came down with diphtheria, and some one else won the competition, but, returning to college in February, he dauntlessly went after the prize again.

Amory was far from contented. He missed the place he had won at St. The upper-class clubs, concerning which he had pumped a reluctant graduate during the previous summer, excited his curiosity: Ivy, detached and breathlessly aristocratic; Cottage, an impressive milange of brilliant adventurers and well-dressed philanderers; Tiger Inn, broad-shouldered Spanish absorbing: Scott Fitzgerald 47 and athletic, vitalized by an honest elaboration of prep-school standards; Cap and Gown, anti-alcoholic, faintly religious and politically powerful; flamboyant Colonial; literary Quadrangle; and the dozen others, varying in age and position.

Amory found that writing for the Nassau Literary Magazine would get him nothing, but that being on the board of the Daily Princetonian would get any one a good deal. His vague desire to do immortal acting with the English Dramatic Association faded out when he found that the most ingenious brains and talents were concentrated upon the Triangle Club, a musical comedy organization that every year took a great Christmas trip.

In the meanwhile, feeling strangely alone and restless in Commons, with new desires and ambitions stirring in his mind, he let the first term go by between an envy of the embryo successes and a puzzled fretting with Kerry as to why they were not accepted immediately among the elite of the class. Many afternoons they lounged in the windows of 12 Univee and watched the class pass to and from Commons, noting satellites already attaching themselves to the more prominent, watching the lonely grind with his hurried step and downcast eye, envying the happy security of the big school groups.

I distrust that sort. All diamonds look big in the rough. I honestly think so sometimes. I want to pull strings, even for somebody else, or be Princetonian chairman or Triangle president. I want to be admired, Kerry. The donor of the party having remained sober, Kerry and Amory accidentally dropped him down two flights of stairs and called, shame-faced and penitent, at the infirmary all the following week. As soon as I get hold of a hand they sort of disconnect it from the rest of them.

I wrote a St. Timothy girl a really loving letter last year. In one place I got rattled and said: February dripped snow and rain, the cyclonic freshman mid-years passed, and life in 12 Univee continued interesting if not purposeful. The latter was a quiet, rather aloof slicker from Hotchkiss, who lived next door and shared the same enforced singleness as Amory, due to the fact that his entire class had gone to Yale.

His father had been experimenting with mining stocks and, in consequence, his allowance, while liberal, was not at all what he had expected. One day in March, finding that all the tables were occupied, he slipped into a chair opposite a freshman who bent intently over a book at the last Spanish aloof: He was, perhaps, nineteen, with stooped shoulders, pale blue eyes, and, as Amory could tell from his general appearance, without much conception of social competition and such phenomena of absorbing interest.

Still, he liked books, and Spanish affirmed: Scott Fitzgerald 53 it seemed forever since Amory had met any one who did; if only that St. In a good-natured way he had almost decided that Princeton was one part deadly Philistines and one part deadly grinds, and to find a person who could mention Keats without stammering, yet evidently washed his hands, was rather a treat.

You can borrow it if you want to. The world Spanish borrow: Amory liked him for being clever and literary without effeminacy or affectation. In fact, Amory did most of the strutting and tried painfully to make every remark an epigram, than which, if one is content with ostensible epigrams, there are many feats harder. Kerry thereupon rolled on the floor in stifled laughter. Amory took to writing poetry on spring afternoons, in the gardens of the big estates near Princeton, while swans made effective atmosphere in the artificial pools, and slow clouds sailed harmoniously above the willows.

May came too soon, and suddenly unable to bear walls, he wandered the campus at all hours through starlight and rain. From the moon it rolled, clustered about the spires and towers, and then settled below them, so that the dreaming peaks were still in lofty aspiration toward the sky. Figures that dotted the day like ants now brushed along as shadowy ghosts, in and out of the foreground.

The Gothic halls and cloisters were infinitely more mysterious as they loomed suddenly out of the darkness, outlined each by myriad faint squares of yellow light. Indefinitely from somewhere a bell boomed the quarter-hour, and Amory, pausing by the sun-dial, stretched himself out full length on the damp grass. The cool bathed his eyes and slowed the flight of time, time that had crept so insidiously through the lazy April afternoons, seemed so intangible in the long spring twilights. Evening after evening the senior singing had drifted over the campus in melancholy beauty, and through the shell of his undergraduate consciousness had broken a deep and reverent devotion to the gray walls and Gothic peaks and all they symbolized as warehouses of dead ages.

The tower that in view of his window sprang upward, grew into a spire, yearning higher until its uppermost tip was half invisible against the morning skies, gave him the first sense of the transiency and unimportance of the campus figures except as holders of the apostolic succession. He liked knowing that Gothic architecture, with its upward trend, was peculiarly appropriate to universities, and the idea became personal to him.

The silent stretches of green, the quiet halls with an occasional late-burning scholastic light held his imagination in a strong grasp, and the chastity of the spire became a symbol of this perception. Where now he realized only his own inconsequence, effort would make him aware of his own impotency and insufficiency.

The college dreamed on—awake. He felt a nervous excitement that might have been the very throb of its slow heart. It was a stream where he was to throw Spanish apostolic: Scott Fitzgerald 57 a stone whose faint ripple would be vanishing almost as it left his hand. As yet he had given nothing, he had taken nothing.

A belated freshman, his oilskin slicker rasping loudly, slushed along the soft path. A hundred little sounds of the current drifting on under the fog pressed in finally on his consciousness. The rain dripped on. A minute longer he lay without moving, his hands clinched. Then he sprang to his feet and gave his clothes a tentative pat. Beyond a sporting interest in the German dash for Paris the whole affair failed either to thrill or interest him. With the attitude he might have held toward an amusing melodrama he hoped it would be long and bloody. If it had not continued he would have felt like an irate ticket-holder at a prize-fight where the principals refused to mix it up.

That was his total reaction. A great, seething ant-hill was the Triangle Club. It gave a musical comedy every year, travelling with cast, chorus, orchestra, and scenery all through Christmas vacation. The play and music were the work of undergraduates, and the club itself was the most influential of institutions, over three hundred men competing for it every year. Amory, after an easy victory in the first sophomore Princetonian competition, stepped into a vacancy of the cast as Boiling Oil, a Pirate Lieutenant.

A rare scene, the Casino. A big, barn-like auditorium, dotted with boys as girls, boys as pirates, boys as babies; the scenery in course of being violently set up; the spotlight man rehearsing by throwing weird shafts into angry eyes; over all the constant tuning of the orchestra or the cheerful tumpty-tump of a Triangle tune. It is also a tradition that the members are invariably successful in later life, amassing fortunes or votes or coupons or whatever they choose to amass.

It was claimed though never proved that on one occasion the hired Elis were swelled by one of the real thing. They played through vacation to the fashionable of eight cities. Amory liked Louisville and Memphis best: Chicago he approved for a certain verve that transcended its loud accent however, it was a Yale town, and as the Yale Glee Club was expected in a week the Triangle received only divided homage.

In Baltimore, Princeton was at home, and every one fell in love. There was a proper consumption of strong waters all along the line; one man invariably went on the stage highly stimulated, claiming Spanish advertised: Everything was so hurried that there was no time to be bored, but when they arrived in Philadelphia, with vacation nearly over, there was rest in getting out of the heavy atmosphere of flowers and grease-paint, and the ponies took off their corsets with abdominal pains and sighs of relief.

He remembered Isabelle only as a little girl with whom he had played sometimes when he first went to Minneapolis. She had gone to Baltimore to live but since then she had developed a past. Amory was in full stride, confident, nervous, and jubilant. Scurrying back to Minneapolis to see a girl he had known as a child seemed the interesting and romantic thing to do, so without compunction he wired his mother not to expect him Huston-Carmelite to her popular daughter.

Amory saw girls doing things that even in his memory would have been impossible: But he never realized how wide-spread it was until he saw the cities between New York and Chicago as one vast juvenile intrigue. Afternoon at the Plaza, with winter twilight hovering outside and faint drums down-stairs Then the swinging doors revolve and three bundles of fur mince in. The theatre comes afterward; then a table at the Midnight Frolic of course, mother will be along there, but she will serve only to make things more secretive and brilliant as she sits in solitary state at the deserted table and thinks such entertainments as this are not half so bad as they are painted, only rather wearying.

Try to find the P. Amory found it rather fascinating to feel that any popular girl he met before eight he might quite possibly kiss before twelve. I wanted to come out here with you because I thought you were the best-looking girl in sight. What have I done to deserve it? He had rather a young face, the ingenuousness of which was marred by the penetrating green eyes, fringed with long dark eyelashes. He lacked somehow that intense animal magnetism that so often accompanies beauty in men or women; his personality seemed rather a mental thing, and it was not in his power to turn it on and off like a water-faucet.

But people never forgot his face. The sensations attributed to divers on spring-boards, leading ladies on opening nights, and lumpy, husky young men on the day of the Big Game, crowded through her. She should have descended to Spanish accompanies: She had been sixteen years old for six months. They curved tantalizingly, and she could catch just a glimpse of two pairs of masculine feet in the hall below. Pump-shod in uniform black, they gave no hint of identity, but she wondered eagerly if one pair were attached to Amory Blaine.

This young man, not as yet encountered, had nevertheless taken up a considerable part of her day the first day of her arrival. Coming up in the machine from the station, Sally had volunteered, amid a rain of question, comment, revelation, and exaggeration: It put them on equal terms, although she was quite capable of staging her own romances, with or without advance advertising.

But following her happy tremble of anticipation, came a sinking sensation that made her ask: What sort of things? She felt rather in the capacity of a showman with her more exotic cousin. She was accustomed to be thus followed by her desperate past, and it never failed to rouse in her the same feeling of resentment; yet in a strange town it was an Spanish amid: Well let them find out. Out of the window Isabelle watched the snow glide by in the frosty morning. It was ever so much colder here than in Baltimore; she had not remembered; the glass of the side door was iced, the windows were shirred with snow in the corners.

Her mind played still with one subject. Did he dress like that boy there, who walked calmly down a bustling business street, in moccasins and wintercarnival costume? Really she had no distinct idea of him. An ancient snap-shot she had preserved in an old kodak book had impressed her by the big eyes which he had probably grown up to by now.

However, in the last month, when her winter visit to Sally had been decided on, he had assumed the proportions of a worthy adversary. Isabelle had been for some time capable of very strong, if very transient emotions They drew up at a spreading, white-stone building, set back from the snowy street. Weatherby greeted her warmly and her various younger cousins were produced from the corners where they skulked politely. Isabelle met them tactfully. At her best she allied all with whom she came in contact except older girls and some women. All the impressions she made were conscious. The half-dozen girls she renewed acquaintance with that morning were all rather impressed and as much by her direct personality as by her reputation.

Amory Blaine was an open subject. Evidently a bit light of love, neither popular nor unpopular every girl there seemed to have had an affair with him at some time or other, but no one volunteered any really useful information. He was going to fall for her Sally had published that information to her young set and they were retailing it back to Sally as fast as they set eyes on Isabelle. Isabelle resolved secretly that she would, if necessary, force herself to like him she owed it to Sally.

Suppose she were terribly disappointed. In fact, he summed up all the romance that her age and Spanish acquaintance: Scott Fitzgerald 65 environment led her to desire. She wondered if those were his dancing-shoes that fox-trotted tentatively around the soft rug below. All impressions and, in fact, all ideas were extremely kaleidoscopic to Isabelle. She had that curious mixture of the social and the artistic temperaments found often in two classes, society women and actresses. Her education or, rather, her sophistication, had been absorbed from the boys who had dangled on her favor; her tact was instinctive, and her capacity for love-affairs was limited only by the number of the susceptible within telephone distance.

Flirt smiled from her large black-brown eyes and shone through her intense physical magnetism. The name Blaine figured somewhere, but at first she could not place him. A very confused, very juvenile moment of awkward backings and bumpings followed, and every one found himself talking to the person he least desired to. Isabelle manoeuvred herself and Froggy Parker, freshman at Harvard, with whom she had once played hop-scotch, to a seat on the stairs.

A humorous reference to the past was all she needed. The things Isabelle could do socially with one idea were remarkable. First, she repeated it rapturously in an enthusiastic contralto with a soupgon of Southern accent; then she held it off at a distance and smiled at it her wonderful smile; then she delivered it in variations and played a sort of mental catch with it, all this in the nominal form of dialogue. Froggy was fascinated and quite unconscious that this was being done, not for him, but for the green eyes that glistened under the Spanish accent: As an actress even in the fullest flush of her own conscious magnetism gets a deep impression of most of the people in the front row, so Isabelle sized up her antagonist.

First, he had auburn hair, and from her feeling of disappointment she knew that she had expected him to be dark and of garteradvertisement slenderness For the rest, a faint flush and a straight, romantic profile; the effect set off by a close-fitting dress suit and a silk ruffled shirt of the kind that women still delight to see men wear, but men were just beginning to get tired of. There was a stir, and Sally led the way over to their table. But really she felt as if a good speech had been taken from the star and given to a minor character The dinner-table glittered with laughter at the confusion of getting places and then curious eyes were turned on her, sitting near the head.

Amory was on the other side, full of confidence and vanity, gazing at her in open admiration. He began directly, and so did Froggy: Isabelle turned to Amory shyly. Her face was always enough answer for any one, but she decided to speak. She leaned slightly toward him and looked modestly at the celery before her. Froggy sighed he knew Amory, and the situations that Amory seemed born to handle.

He turned to Sally and asked her if she was going away to school next year. Amory opened with grape-shot. Amory shook his head. Amory attempted to make them look even keener. He fancied, but he was not sure, that her foot had just touched his under the table. But it might possibly have been only the table leg. It was so hard to tell. Still it thrilled him. He wondered quickly if there would be any difficulty in securing the little den up-stairs. Moreover, amateur standing had very little value in the game they were Spanish adjective: She had begun as he had, with good looks and an excitable temperament, and the rest was the result of accessible popular novels and dressing-room conversation culled from a slightly older set.

Isabelle had walked with an artificial gait at nine and a half, and when her eyes, wide and starry, proclaimed the ingenue most. Amory was proportionately less deceived. He waited for the mask to drop off, but at the same time he did not question her right to wear it. She, on her part, was not impressed by his studied air of blasi sophistication. She had lived in a larger city and had slightly an advantage in range. But she accepted his pose it was one of the dozen little conventions of this kind of affair. He was aware that he was getting this particular favor now because she had been coached; he knew that he stood for merely the best game in sight, and that he would have to improve his opportunity before he lost his advantage.

So they proceeded with an infinite guile that would have horrified her parents. She was conscious that they were a handsome pair, and seemed to belong distinctively in this seclusion, while lesser lights fluttered and chattered downstairs. Boys who passed the door looked in enviously girls who passed only laughed and frowned and grew wise within themselves.

They had now reached a very definite stage. They had traded accounts of their progress since they had met last, and she had listened to much she had heard before. He was a sophomore, was on the Princetonian board, hoped to be chairman in senior year. He learned that some of the boys she went with in Spanish accessible: A good half seemed to have already flunked out of various schools and colleges, but some of them bore athletic names that made him look at her admiringly. Such is the power of young contralto voices on sink-down sofas. She said there was a difference between conceit and self-confidence.

She adored self-confidence in men. However, he sized up several people for her. Then they talked about hands. Amory had stayed over a day to see her, and his train left at twelveeighteen that night. His trunk and suitcase awaited him at the station; his watch was beginning to hang heavy in his pocket. Amory reached above their heads and turned out the electric light, so that they were in the dark, except for the red glow that fell through the door from the reading-room lamps.

He continued a bit huskily: Isabelle was quite stirred; she wound her handkerchief into a tight ball, and by the faint light that streamed over her, dropped it deliberately on the floor. Their hands touched for an instant, but neither spoke. Silences were becoming more frequent and more delicious. Outside another stray couple had come up and were experimenting on the piano in the next room. You do give a darn about me. As he swung the door softly shut, the music seemed quivering just outside. The future vista of her life seemed an unending succession of scenes like this: He took her hand softly.

With a sudden movement he turned it and, holding it to his lips, kissed the palm. Her breath came faster. Suddenly the ring of voices, the sound of running footsteps surged toward them. Quick as a flash Amory reached up and turned on the light, and when the door opened and three boys, the wrathy and dance-craving Froggy among them, rushed in, he was turning over the magazines on the table, while she sat without moving, serene and unembarrassed, and even greeted them with a welcoming smile.

But her heart was beating wildly, and she felt somehow as if she had been deprived. There was a clamor for a dance, there was a glance that passed between them on his side despair, on hers regret, and then the evening went on, with the reassured beaux and the eternal cutting in. At quarter to twelve Amory shook hands with her gravely, in the midst of a small crowd assembled to wish him good-speed. For an instant he lost his poise, and she felt a bit rattled when a satirical voice from a concealed wit cried: Isabelle turned to her quietly.

In her eyes was the light of the idealist, the inviolate dreamer of Joan-like dreams. He had such a good-looking mouth would she ever? The minor snobs, finely balanced thermometers of success, warmed to him as the club elections grew nigh, and he and Tom were visited by groups of upper classmen who arrived awkwardly, balanced on the edge of the furniture and talked of all subjects except the one of absorbing interest.

Amory was amused at the intent eyes upon Spanish angels: Scott Fitzgerald 73 him, and, in case the visitors represented some club in which he was not interested, took great pleasure in shocking them with unorthodox remarks. There were fickle groups that jumped from club to club; there were friends of two or three days who announced tearfully and wildly that they must join the same club, nothing should separate them; there were snarling disclosures of long-hidden grudges as the Suddenly Prominent remembered snubs of freshman year.

This orgy of sociability culminated in a gigantic party at the Nassau Inn, where punch was dispensed from immense bowls, and the whole down-stairs became a delirious, circulating, shouting pattern of faces and voices. Tore over to Murray—Dodge on a bicycle—afraid it was a mistake. Hear you got a good crowd. His ideas were in tune with life as he found it; he wanted no more than to drift and dream and enjoy a dozen new-found friendships through the April afternoons. Alec Connage came into his room one morning and woke him up into the sunshine and peculiar glory of Campbell Hall shining in the window.

Speed it up, kid! In fact, it was stolen from Asbury Park by persons unknown, who deserted it in Princeton and left for the West. Heartless Humbird here got permission from the city council to deliver it. There was an emphatic negative chorus. We can sell the car. Some people have lived on nothing for years at a time. Read the Boy Scout Monthly.

Swinburne seemed to fit in somehow. I can see it in his eye. I ought to make up to-night; but I can telephone back, I suppose. It was a halcyon day, and as they neared the shore and the salt breezes scurried by, he began to picture the ocean and long, level stretches of sand and red roofs over blue sea. Then they hurried through the little town and it all flashed upon his consciousness to a mighty pfan of emotion Oh, gentlefolk, stop the car!

First, he realized that the sea was blue and that there was an Spanish begotten: Scott Fitzgerald 77 enormous quantity of it, and that it roared and roared really all the banalities about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had told him then that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in wonder. The food for one. Hand the rest around. When luncheon was over they sat and smoked quietly. Kerry, collect the small change. They sauntered leisurely toward the door, pursued in a moment by the suspicious Ganymede.

At four there were refreshments in a lunch-room, and this time they paid an even smaller per cent on the total cost; something about the appearance and savoir-faire of the crowd made the thing go, and they were not pursued. Then Kerry saw a face in the crowd that attracted him and, rushing off, reappeared in a moment with one of the homeliest girls Amory had ever set eyes on. Her pale mouth extended from ear to ear, her teeth projected in a solid wedge, and she had little, squinty eyes that peeped ingratiatingly over the side sweep of her nose.

Kerry presented them formally. Let me present Messrs. Connage, Sloane, Humbird, Ferrenby, and Blaine. Poor creature; Amory supposed she had never before been noticed in her life possibly she was half-witted. While she accompanied them Kerry had invited her to supper she said nothing which could discountenance such a belief.

Amory was content to sit and watch the by-play, thinking what a light touch Kerry had, and how he could transform the barest incident into a thing of curve and contour. They all seemed to have the spirit of it more or less, and it was a relaxation to be with them. Amory usually liked men individually, yet feared Spanish bobbed: Scott Fitzgerald 79 them in crowds unless the crowd was around him. He wondered how much each one contributed to the party, for there was somewhat of a spiritual tax levied. Alec and Kerry were the life of it, but not quite the centre.

Somehow the quiet Humbird, and Sloane, with his impatient superciliousness, were the centre. Dick Humbird had, ever since freshman year, seemed to Amory a perfect type of aristocrat. He was slender but well-built black curly hair, straight features, and rather a dark skin.

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Everything he said sounded intangibly appropriate. He possessed infinite courage, an averagely good mind, and a sense of honor with a clear charm and noblesse oblige that varied it from righteousness. He was not a snob, though he knew only half his class. Servants worshipped him, and treated him like a god. He seemed the eternal example of what the upper class tries to be.

This present type of party was made possible by the surging together of the class after club elections as if to make a last desperate attempt to know itself, to keep together, to fight off the tightening spirit of the clubs. It was a let-down from the conventional heights they had all walked so rigidly.

After supper they saw Kaluka to the boardwalk, and then strolled back along the beach to Asbury. The evening sea was a new sensation, for all its color and Spanish aristocrat: They had suppered greatly on their last eleven cents and, singing, strolled up through the casinos and lighted arches on the boardwalk, stopping to listen approvingly to all band concerts.

In one place Kerry took up a collection for the French War Orphans which netted a dollar and twenty cents, and with this they bought some brandy in case they caught cold in the night. They finished the day in a moving-picture show and went into solemn systematic roars of laughter at an ancient comedy, to the startled annoyance of the rest of the audience. Their entrance was distinctly strategic, for each man as he entered pointed reproachfully at the one just behind him. Sloane, bringing up the rear, disclaimed all knowledge and responsibility as soon as the others were scattered inside; then as the irate ticket-taker rushed in he followed nonchalantly.

They reassembled later by the Casino and made arrangements for the night. Kerry wormed permission from the watchman to sleep on the platform and, having collected a huge pile of rugs from the booths to serve as mattresses and blankets, they talked until midnight, and then fell into a dreamless sleep, though Amory tried hard to stay awake and watch that marvellous moon settle on the sea. So they progressed for two happy days, up and down the shore by street-car or machine, or by shoe-leather on the crowded boardwalk; sometimes eating with the wealthy, more frequently dining frugally at the expense of an unsuspecting restaurateur.

They had their photos taken, eight poses, in a quickdevelopment store. The photographer probably has them yet at least, they never called for them. The weather was perfect, and Spanish annoyance: Scott Fitzgerald 81 again they slept outside, and again Amory fell unwillingly asleep.

Sunday broke stolid and respectable, and even the sea seemed to mumble and complain, so they returned to Princeton via the Fords of transient farmers, and broke up with colds in their heads, but otherwise none the worse for wandering. Even more than in the year before, Amory neglected his work, not deliberately but lazily and through a multitude of other interests. Co-ordinate geometry and the melancholy hexameters of Corneille and Racine held forth small allurements, and even psychology, which he had eagerly awaited, proved to be a dull subject full of muscular reactions and biological phrases rather than the study of personality and influence.

That was a noon class, and it always sent him dozing. They all cut more classes than were allowed, which meant an additional course the following year, but spring was too rare to let anything interfere with their colorful ramblings. All through the spring Amory had kept up an intermittent correspondence with Isabelle Borgi, punctuated by violent squabbles and chiefly enlivened by his attempts to find new words for love.

He discovered Isabelle to be discreetly Spanish allurements: I mean the future, you know. I may not come back next year. I wish my girl lived here. But marry not a chance. Scott Fitzgerald 83 But Amory sighed and made use of the nights. He had a snap-shot of Isabelle, enshrined in an old watch, and at eight almost every night he would turn off all the lights except the desk lamp and, sitting by the open windows with the picture before him, write her rapturous letters.

Your last letter came and it was wonderful! Be cure and be able to come to the prom. I often think over what you said on that night and wonder how much you meant. For I am through with everything. And so on in an eternal monotone that seemed to both of them infinitely charming, infinitely new. June came and the days grew so hot and lazy that they could not worry even about exams, but spent dreamy evenings on the court of Cottage, talking of long subjects until the sweep of country toward Stony Brook became a blue haze and Spanish afraid: Then down deserted Prospect and along McCosh with song everywhere around them, up to the hot joviality of Nassau Street.

Cabalgue, pret de ride. Princeton invariably gives the thoughtful man a social sense. I might have been a pretty fair poet. You chose to come to an Eastern college. They reached the sleeping school of Lawrenceville, and turned to ride back. Oh, for a hot, languorous summer and Isabelle! By noon the bright-costumed alumni crowded the streets with their bands and choruses, and in the tents there was great reunion under the orange-and-black banners that curled and strained in the wind. It had been a gay party and different stages of sobriety were represented. Amory was in the car behind; they had taken the wrong road and lost the way, and so were hurrying to catch up.

He had the ghost of two stanzas of a poem forming in his mind So the gray car crept nightward in the dark and there was no life stirred as it went by As the still ocean paths before the shark in starred and glittering waterways, beauty-high, the moon-swathed trees divided, pair on pair, while flapping night birds cried across the air A moment by an inn of lamps and shades, a yellow inn under a yellow moon then silence, where crescendo laughter fades Scott Fitzgerald 87 They jolted to a stop, and Amory peered up, startled.

A woman was standing beside the road, talking to Alec at the wheel. Afterward he remembered the harpy effect that her old kimono gave her, and the cracked hollowness of her voice as she spoke: Under the full light of a roadside arc-light lay a form, face downward in a widening circle of blood.

Amory thought of the back of that head that hair— that hair The car turned over. Sloane, with his shoulder punctured, was on another lounge. He was half delirious, and kept calling something about a chemistry lecture at 8: The doctor had arrived, and Amory went over to the couch, where some one handed him a sheet to put over the body. With a sudden hardness, he raised one of the hands and let it fall back inertly. The brow was cold but the face not Spanish calling: He looked at the shoe-laces—Dick had tied them that morning.

He had tied them, and now he was this heavy white mass. All that remained of the charm and personality of the Dick Humbird he had known oh, it was all so horrible and unaristocratic and close to the earth. All tragedy has that strain of the grotesque and squalid so useless, futile Amory was reminded of a cat that had lain horribly mangled in some alley of his childhood.

Next day, by a merciful chance, passed in a whirl. When Amory was by himself his thoughts zigzagged inevitably to the picture of that red mouth yawning incongruously in the white face, but with a determined effort he piled present excitement upon the memory of it and shut it coldly away from his mind. Isabelle and her mother drove into town at four, and they rode up smiling Prospect Avenue, through the gay crowd, to have tea at Cottage.

The clubs had their annual dinners that night, so at seven he loaned her to a freshman and arranged to meet her in the gymnasium at eleven, when the upper classmen were admitted to the freshman dance. She was all he had expected, and he was happy and eager to make that night the centre of every dream. At nine the upper classes stood in front of the clubs as the freshman torchlight parade rioted past, and Amory wondered if the dress-suited groups against the dark, stately backgrounds and under the flare of the torches made the night as brilliant to the staring, cheering freshmen as it had been to him the year before.

The next day was another whirl. They lunched in a gay party of six in a private dining-room at the club, while Isabelle and Amory looked at each other Spanish alley: Scott Fitzgerald 89 tenderly over the fried chicken and knew that their love was to be eternal. They danced away the prom until five, and the stags cut in on Isabelle with joyous abandon, which grew more and more enthusiastic as the hour grew late, and their wines, stored in overcoat pockets in the coat room, made old weariness wait until another day.

The stag line is a most homogeneous mass of men. It fairly sways with a single soul. A dark-haired beauty dances by and there is a half-gasping sound as the ripple surges forward and some one sleeker than the rest darts out and cuts in. Then when the six-foot girl brought by Kaye in your class, and to whom he has been trying to introduce you all evening gallops by, the line surges back and the groups face about and become intent on far corners of the hall, for Kaye, anxious and perspiring, appears elbowing through the crowd in search of familiar faces.

For a delicious hour that passed too soon they glided the silent roads about Princeton and talked from the surface of their hearts in shy excitement. His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward. He, being in the vaward, plac'd behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face.

Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake.

So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. I do remember it, and here take my leave To go about my preparation.

I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. To Eltham will I, where the young King is, Being ordain'd his special governor; And for his safety there I'll best devise. Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The King from Eltham I intend to steal, And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.

What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Spanish artillery: They want their porridge and their fat bull beeves Either they must be dieted like mules, And have their provender tied to their mouths, Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. Let's raise the siege: Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. Now for the honour of the forlorn French!

Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or flee. Who ever saw the like? I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred During the time Edward the Third did reign.

More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. I think by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand: The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. Go, call her in. By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

Reignier is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me. In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me, And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation, And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see.

Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms; Only this proof I 'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. And while I live, I 'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and Joan La Pucelle overcomes. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, And fightest with the sword of Deborah. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense.

Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. My lord, where are you? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!

Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. What she says I'll confirm: Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I 'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included.

Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

Woman, do what thou canst to save our honors; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. Presently we 'll try: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Villains, answer you so the lord protector? We do no otherwise than we are will'd. There's none protector of the realm but I.

Break up the gates, I 'll be your warrantize: Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? What noise is this? Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me?

Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the King. Open the gates, or I 'll shut thee out shortly. Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we 'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. How now, ambitious Humphry! Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I 'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. I will not slay thee, but I 'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I 'll use to carry thee out of this place. Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.

William Shakespeare 21 Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard; I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I 'll drag thee up and down.

Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I 'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Here Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's men, and enter in the hurlyburly the Mayor of London and his Officers. Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince.

I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst: All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.

Cardinal, I 'll be no breaker of the law; But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure; Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. I 'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long.

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See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.

But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them.

If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.

But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground To hurl at the beholders of my shame; My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death.

In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walk'd about me every minute while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently. Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one, And view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.

I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?

How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.

Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it, Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort, Thou shalt not die whiles-He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.

Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I 'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I 'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.

Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we 'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Where is my strength, my valor, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. I 'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I 'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I 'll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Spanish bout: This day is ours, as many more shall be.

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists. So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English: Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.

France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans. More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. William Shakespeare In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France.

Come in, and let us banquet royally After this golden day of victory. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, Spanish apparent: William Shakespeare 33 By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity, As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.

Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! Traitors have never other company. But what 's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? A maid, they say. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. Well, let them practice and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. I 'll to yond corner. And I to this. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. How now, my lords! Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favor him. I marvel how he sped. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? At all times will you have my power alike?

Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. And so was mine, my lord. And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in?

Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. I 'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name.

The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.

And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I 'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd; Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapors of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night.

After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? Here is the Talbot: The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encount'red with.

You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Spanish admiring: William Shakespeare 39 Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honors bear me company? No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. Well then, alone, since there 's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

The plot is laid: Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. And he is welcome. Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.

Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I 'll sort some other time to visit you. What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs: But now the substance shall endure the like, And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny these many years Wasted our country, slain our citizens, And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

Thy mirth shall turn to moan. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond Spanish abrupt: Why, art not thou the man? Then have I substance too. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here; For what you see is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity: I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.

This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree? That will I show you presently. These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate. I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done hath not offended me; Nor other satisfaction do I crave, But only, with your patience, that we may Taste of your wine and see what cates you have; For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

With all my heart, and think me honored To feast so great a warrior in my house. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence? Dare no man answer in a case of truth? Within the Temple-hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth; Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error? Faith, I have been a truant in the law, And never yet could frame my will to it; And therefore frame the law unto my will.

Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; Between two blades, which bears the better temper: Between two horses, which doth bear him best; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye; I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment: But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: The truth appears so naked on my side That any purblind eye may find it out. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: Let him that is a true-born gentleman And stands upon the honor of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. I love no colours, and without all colour Of base insinuating flattery I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset, And say withal I think he held the right.

Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more, Till you conclude that he, upon whose side The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Then for the truth and plainness of the case, Spanish base: Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, Lest bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so, against your will. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt And keep me on the side where still I am. Well, well, come on: Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

Here in my scabbard, meditating that Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side. No, Plantagenet, 'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks Spanish anger: William Shakespeare 47 Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Well, I 'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Away, away, good William de la Pole!

We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? He bears him on the place's privilege, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom. Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king's days? And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?

His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. My father was attached, not attainted, Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. For your partaker Pole and you yourself, I'll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension: Look to it well and say you are well warn'd. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still; And know us by these colors for thy foes, For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for ever and my faction wear, Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree.

And so farewell until I meet thee next. Have with thee, Pole. How I am braved and must perforce endure it! This blot that they object against your house Shall be wiped out in the next parliament Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; And if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset and William Pole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose: And here I prophesy: Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

In your behalf still will I wear the same. And so will I. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say This quarrel will drink blood another day. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground: Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have.

But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: Bloqueos, pelo, cerradura, cabellos, bloquear. William Shakespeare 51 We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber; And answer was return'd that he will come. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Before whose glory I was great in arms, This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscured, Deprived of honour and inheritance. But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence: I would his troubles likewise were expired, That so he might recover what was lost.

My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? Aye, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, Why didst thou say of late thou wert despised? First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; And, in that case, I'll tell thee my disease.

This day, in argument upon a case, Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me; Among which terms he used his lavish tongue And did upbraid me with my father's death: Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, Else with the like I had requited him. Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, In honor of a true Plantagenet And for alliance sake, declare the cause My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease. Discover more at large what cause that was, For I am ignorant and cannot guess. I will, if that my fading breath permit, And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son, The first-begotten and the lawful heir Of Edward king, the third of that descent; During whose reign the Percies of the north, Finding his usurpation most unjust, Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.

Levied an army, weening to redeem And have install'd me in the diadem: But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. Of which, my lord, your honor is the last. True; and thou seest that I no issue have, And that my fainting words do warrant death: Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: But yet, methinks, my father's execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. With silence, nephew, be thou politic: Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And like a mountain not to be removed. But now thy uncle is removing hence; As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd With long continuance in a settled place.

O, uncle, would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age! Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; Only give order for my funeral: And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes, And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; And what I do imagine let that rest. Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself Will see his burial better than his life.

And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, I doubt not but with honour to redress; And therefore haste I to the parliament, Either to be restored to my blood, Or make my ill the advantage of my good. Comest thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devised, Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge. Do it without invention, suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Think not, although in writing I preferr'd The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, Spanish answer: William Shakespeare 57 That therefore I have forged, or am not able Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen: No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks, As very infants prattle of thy pride.

Thou art a most pernicious usurer, Froward by nature, enemy to peace; Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems A man of thy profession and degree; And for thy treachery, what's more manifest In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, As well at London-bridge as at the Tower. Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts are sifted The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply.

If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will have me, how am I so poor? Or how haps it I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissension, who preferreth peace More than I do? No, my good lords, it is not that offends; It is not that that hath incensed the duke: It is, because no one should sway but he; No one but he should be about the king; And that engenders thunder in his breast, And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good-- Spanish accusations: Thou bastard of my grandfather!

Aye, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne? Am I not protector, saucy priest? And am not I a prelate of the church? Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps And useth it to patronage his theft. Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Rome shall remedy this. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. Methinks my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such.

Methinks his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king? Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal, I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the bishop's men. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, Pity the city of London, pity us! The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones, And banding themselves in contrary parts Do pelt so fast at one another's pate That many have their giddy brains knock'd out: Our windows are broke down in every street, And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.

Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we 'll fall to it with our teeth.

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Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. You of my household, leave this peevish broil And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. My lord, we know your grace to be a man Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none but to his Majesty: And ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, Spanish allegiance: William Shakespeare 61 To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, We and our wives and children all will fight, And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

Aye, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field when we are dead. Stay, stay, I say! And if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold My sighs and tears and will not once relent? Who should be pitiful, if you be not?

Or who should study to prefer a peace, If holy churchmen take delight in broils? Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester; Except you mean with obstinate repulse To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. You see what mischief and what murder too Hath been enacted through your enmity; Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

He shall submit, or I will never yield. Compassion on the king commands me stoop; Spanish afflict: Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: Why look you still so stem and tragical? Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.