 | Love's Last Labour Not Lost |  |
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UNCLE TIMOTHY AT HOME.
135
[“Another Star has left its sphere]
“Another Star has left its sphere,
In happier, holier realms to rise;
Dark clouds eclipsed its brightness here,
Its lustre hid from human eyes.
In happier, holier realms to rise;
Dark clouds eclipsed its brightness here,
Its lustre hid from human eyes.
Yet were that risen radiant star
(A ransomed Spirit!) but in sight,
'Twould be a lamp exceeding far
All that we here have seen of light.
(A ransomed Spirit!) but in sight,
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All that we here have seen of light.
Its heavenly music now is heard,
(That music hushed, alas! so long)
Its strings of harmony are stirred,
The Saviour's Sacrifice its song!
(That music hushed, alas! so long)
Its strings of harmony are stirred,
The Saviour's Sacrifice its song!
He died; then broke death's prison bars;
He rose again from earth and time;
That souls redeem'd might shine as Stars
Before His Father's Throne sublime.”
He rose again from earth and time;
That souls redeem'd might shine as Stars
Before His Father's Throne sublime.”
[“‘Let those laugh that win,’ is a saying in vogue]
“What news from Parnassus, my merry masters? What (opening the first paper that was handed to him) sings Autolicus?
“‘Let those laugh that win,’ is a saying in vogue
Very glib (like a fib!) with the prosperous rogue.
Very glib (like a fib!) with the prosperous rogue.
“‘Let those laugh that win,’ cries the ‘Shop,’ with a grin,
When it has taken a customer in!
When it has taken a customer in!
“‘Let those laugh that win,’ in a risible fit,
Is Mammon's salute to a capital hit.
Is Mammon's salute to a capital hit.
“‘Let those that win,’” is the jubilant cry
Of Good-luck and Company's fortunate fry,
Of Good-luck and Company's fortunate fry,
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Poor Honesty only, through thick and through thin,
Has never yet chuckled ‘Let those laugh that win.’
Has never yet chuckled ‘Let those laugh that win.’
“Soft words, but hard arguments! What says Touchstone?
“‘De mortuis nil nisi bonum’—
Spare dead rascals, let alone 'em!
Memories so rank and rotten
Should be by Charity forgotten.
Spare dead rascals, let alone 'em!
Memories so rank and rotten
Should be by Charity forgotten.
“‘De mortuis nil nisi’ Verum!
Gibbet knaves; that knaves may fear 'em!
And from their example learn
They shall be gibbetted in turn!
Gibbet knaves; that knaves may fear 'em!
And from their example learn
They shall be gibbetted in turn!
“‘Bonum?’ ‘Verum!’ Never, never
Truth, from dead or living, fever.
Truth, from dead or living, fever.
“Mischief in miniature! who takes a turn at the churn, or a swig at the home-brewed with equal gusto—Now for thy ‘silver penny.’
“‘Forget and Forgive.’—If I can do the one,
Without further doing, the other is done!
Put but ‘Forgive’ in the place of its brother,
My heart shall try one, while my brain tries the other.
But this will I promise (for injuries live)
What my brain can't ‘Forget,’ why my heart shall ‘Forgive.’”
Without further doing, the other is done!
Put but ‘Forgive’ in the place of its brother,
My heart shall try one, while my brain tries the other.
But this will I promise (for injuries live)
What my brain can't ‘Forget,’ why my heart shall ‘Forgive.’”
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Here Uncle Timothy peeped over his spectacles at Puck; paused, and then called upon Othello.
“‘Two blacks don't make a white,’
Very right, Sir; very right.
You than most men being meaner,
Makes me not a bit the cleaner.
Differing only in degree,
A pretty pair of rogues are we!
Very right, Sir; very right.
You than most men being meaner,
Makes me not a bit the cleaner.
Differing only in degree,
A pretty pair of rogues are we!
“Curt and pert! Now for Sir John Falstaff.
“‘Tell the truth and shame the sire
Of every lie, and every liar.”
Telling truth would Pelion level
Quite as soon as ‘shame the Devil.’
Tell the truth, and fibbers rather
Make ashamed of such a father!
Of every lie, and every liar.”
Telling truth would Pelion level
Quite as soon as ‘shame the Devil.’
Tell the truth, and fibbers rather
Make ashamed of such a father!
“Starved Apothecary!
‘Make hay while the sun shines.’ So I would have done,
If on my poor pasture had e'er shone the sun.
If on my poor pasture had e'er shone the sun.
“Shylock.
Son, thy yearly ‘groat’ to win,
Pick up Mammon's daily ‘pin;’
And when up the pin thou pickest
(Where the mud is blackest, thickest),
Think what life is; what a boon
To money-grubs beneath the moon!
Ending just as it begins,
In picking up, and hoarding ‘pins.’
Pick up Mammon's daily ‘pin;’
And when up the pin thou pickest
(Where the mud is blackest, thickest),
Think what life is; what a boon
To money-grubs beneath the moon!
Ending just as it begins,
In picking up, and hoarding ‘pins.’
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“Trinculo.
‘The end shall justify the means.’
‘True!’ says Satan, behind the scenes.
But if from evil good's to come,
Leave the old sinner to work his sum!
‘True!’ says Satan, behind the scenes.
But if from evil good's to come,
Leave the old sinner to work his sum!
“Timon.
Where's ‘Charity’ all winter been?
At home!
She abroad was never seen
To roam.
Against the cold and cutting blast
She barr'd her doors and windows fast.
But now the weather's bright, and warm,
And clear,
She will let her tender form
Appear;
And for long absence make amends
By going out to see her friends.
At home!
She abroad was never seen
To roam.
Against the cold and cutting blast
She barr'd her doors and windows fast.
But now the weather's bright, and warm,
And clear,
She will let her tender form
Appear;
And for long absence make amends
By going out to see her friends.
“Goodman Dogberry.
Gossip! gossip! he advi-sed,‘A still tongue doth make a wise head.’
Rather say, Sir, rather say,
It don't that empty head betray;
So of gravity the visor
Makes a fool look all the wiser.
“Orlando.
‘Money makes the mare to go.’Very quick, or very slow!
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She will start into a trot;
If from hot, it hotter grow,
She, full gallop, off will go!
If its strings be tightened all,
How the jade will creep and crawl!
But if finally at fault,
Rosinante makes a halt!
[“Ere the parting year expire]
“Ere the parting year expire,
Ere is toll'd its solemn knell,
Let me of myself inquire,
Have I spent it ill, or well?
Ere is toll'd its solemn knell,
Let me of myself inquire,
Have I spent it ill, or well?
Was it to my Maker given?
Or to Mammon sold a slave?
Am I one step nearer heaven,
As I'm many to the grave?
Or to Mammon sold a slave?
Am I one step nearer heaven,
As I'm many to the grave?
Have I let Religion's light
Shine upon the path I trod,
That man, her beauty seeing, might
Glorify the Living God?
Shine upon the path I trod,
That man, her beauty seeing, might
Glorify the Living God?
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From the burning have I striven
Other brands for Him to save?
Am I one step nearer heaven
As I'm many to the grave?”
Other brands for Him to save?
Am I one step nearer heaven
As I'm many to the grave?”
| Love's Last Labour Not Lost | |