Who, with his shears and measure in his | And those thy fears might have wrought hand, fears in me: Standing on slippers, (which his nimble But thou didst understand me by my signs, haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Another lean unwashed artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears? And didst in signs again parley with sin; sent, And consequently thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. Out of my sight, and never see me more! My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, powers: Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. breath, Hostility and civic tumult reigns Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you Between my conscience and my cousin's not provoke me? K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, By slaves, that take their humours for a I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. warrant To break within the bloody house of life; To understand a law; to know the meaning More upon humour than advised respect. Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. And you have slandered Nature in my form, K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt Is yet the cover of a fairer mind heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and Witness against us to damnation! been by, A fellow by the hand of nature marked, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, made Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. | [Arthur, disguised as a sailor boy, tries to escape-He Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. Sal. [Pointing to the body.] O, he is bold, and blushes not at death: Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! Must I rob the law? Faul. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. I honoured him, I loved him; and will weep For villany is not without such rheum; Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire [Exeunt Lords. us out. Faul. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this fair work? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Art thou damned, Hubert. Hub. Do but hear me, sir. Faul. Ha! I'll tell thee what; Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a mur- Thou art stained as black-nay, nothing is child. Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this back, I say; By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as Hub. Upon my soul- If thou didst but consent That ever spider twisted from her womb Put but a little water in a spoon, Faul. Go, bear him in thine arms. Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. I am amazed, methinks; and lose my way Pem. Cut him to pieces! Keep the peace, I Faul. say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Among the thorns and dangers of this world. How easy dost thou take all England up! From forth this morsel of dead royalty, Faul. If thou but frown on me, or stir thy The life, the right and truth of all this foot, Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime. realm Is fled to heaven: and England now is left To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faul- The unowed interest of proud-swelling conbridge? Second a villain and a murderer? state. Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty, Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits can Hold out this tempest.-Bear away that And follow me with speed; I'll to the king: * * * [The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected nobles of Eng. land, gives battle to John at St. Edmund's BuryThe King's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyed to Swinstead Abbey sick of a fever-Death of King John.] SCENE.-Swinstead Abbey. Enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in KING JOHN in a chair. And comfort me with cold. I do not ask I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, P. Henry. O that there were some virtue That might relieve you! K. John. Enter FAULCONBRIDGE. Faul. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty! K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart is cracked and burned; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life Are turned to one thread, one little hair: K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath And then all this thou seest is but a clod, elbow-room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, How fares your majesty? And none of you will bid the winter come, course Through my burned bosom, nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And module of confounded royalty. Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where Heaven he knows how we shall an swer him: For, in a night, the best part of my power, [The KING dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus! P. Henry. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay? DESCRIPTION OF CANTON. THE recently arrived stranger naturally manifests surprise and incredulity on being told that the estimated population of Canton exceeds a million. As soon, however, as he visits the close streets, with their dense population and busy wayfarers, huddled together into lanes from five to nine feet wide, where Europeans could scarcely inhale the breath of life, the greatness of the number no longer appears incredible. After the first feelings of novelty have passed away, disappointment, rather than admiration, occupies the mind. After leaving the open space before the factories, we behold an endless succession of narrow avenues, scarcely deserving the name of streets. As the visitor pursues his course, narrow lanes still continue to succeed each other, and the conviction is gradually impressed on the mind that such is the general character of the streets of the city. Along these, busy traders, mechanics, barbers, venders, and porters, make their way; while occasionally the noisy abrupt tones of vociferating coolies remind the traveller that some materials of bulky dimensions are on their transit, and suggest the expediency of keeping at a distance, to avoid collision. Now and then the monotony of the scene is relieved by some portly mandarin, or merchant of the higher class, borne in a sedan-chair on the shoulders of two, or sometimes four men. Yet, with all this hurry and din, there seldom occurs any accident or interruption of good nature. On the river the same order and regularity prevail. Though there are probably not fewer than 200,000 denizens of the river, whose hereditary domains are the watery element that supports their little dwelling, yet harmony and good feeling are conspicuous in the accommodating manner with which they make way for each other. These aquatic tribes of the human species show a most philosophic spirit of equanimity, and contrive, in this way, to strip daily life of many of its little troubles; while the fortitude and patience with which the occasional injury or destruction of their boat is borne is remarkable. To return from the wide expanse of the river-population to the streets in the suburbs, the same spirit of contented adaptation to external things is everywhere observable; and it is difficult which to regard with most surprise-the narrow abodes of the one, or the little boats which serve as family residences to the other. There is something of romance in the effect of Chinese streets. On either side are shops, decked out with native wares, furniture and manufactures of various kinds. These are adorned by pillar sign-boards, rising perpendicularly, and inscribed from top to bottom with the various kinds of saleable articles which may be had within. Native artists seem to have lavished their ingenuity on several of these inscriptions, in order to give, by their caligraphy, some idea of the superiority of the commodities for sale. Many of these sign-boards contain some fictitious emblem, adopted as the name of the shop-similar to the practice prevalent in London two centuries ago. On entering, the proprietor, with his assistants or partners, welcomes a foreigner with sundry salutations; sometimes advancing to shake hands, and endeavouring to make the most of his scanty knowledge of English. They will show their goods with the utmost patience, and evince nothing of disappointment if, after gratifying his curiosity, he depart without purchasing. At a distance from the factories, where the sight of a foreigner is a rarity, crowds of idlers, from fifty to a hundred, rapidly gather round the shop, and frequent embarrassment ensues from an imperfect knowledge of the colloquial medium. In these parts the shopkeepers know nothing but their own language, are more moderate in their politeness, and, as a compensation, put a less price on their wares. To write one's name in Chinese characters is a sure method of enhancing their good favour. Sometimes no fewer than eight or ten blind beggars find their way into a shop, and there they remain, singing a melancholy, dirge-like strain, and most perseveringly beating together two pieces of wood, till the weary shopman at length takes compas |