Practice Book | Page 7

me in wine you drank once?
Cho. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!
To whom used my boy George quaff else,?By the old fool's side that begot him??For whom did he cheer and laugh else,?While Noll's damned troopers shot him.
Cho. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!
II. BOOT AND SADDLE.
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!?Rescue my castle before the hot day?Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;?Many's the friend there, will listen and pray?"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!"
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,?Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array:?Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,?Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!?I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
ROBERT BROWNING.

ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.
From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.
How often in the summer tide,?His graver business set aside,?Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed,?As to the pipe of Pan?Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride?Across the fields to Anne!
It must have been a merry mile,?This summer-stroll by hedge and stile,?With sweet foreknowledge all the while?How sure the pathway ran?To dear delights of kiss and smile,?Across the fields to Anne.
The silly sheep that graze to-day,?I wot, they let him go his way,?Nor once looked up, as who should say:?"It is a seemly man."?For many lads went wooing aye?Across the fields to Anne.
The oaks, they have a wiser look;?Mayhap they whispered to the brook:?"The world by him shall yet be shook,?It is in nature's plan;?Though now he fleets like any rook?Across the fields to Anne."
And I am sure, that on some hour?Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower,?He stooped and broke a daisy-flower?With heart of tiny span,?And bore it as a lover's dower?Across the fields to Anne.
While from her cottage garden-bed?She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede,?To scent his jerkin's brown instead;?Now since that love began,?What luckier swain than he who sped?Across the fields to Anne?
The winding path wheron I pace,?The hedgerows green, the summer's grace,?Are still before me face to face;?Methinks I almost can?Turn poet and join the singing race?Across the fields to Anne!
RICHARD BURTON.

GREEN THINGS GROWING.
The green things growing, the green things growing,?The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!?I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,?Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;?In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight?Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.
I love, I love them so--my green things growing!?And I think that they love me, without false showing;?For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,?With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.
And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing,?Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing:?Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be,?Many, many a summer of my green things growing!
But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing,?Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing,?Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn,?If I may change into green things growing.
DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.

THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH.
1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course money doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it