O England--England! many a heart Is sad and sore for thee, Though basely, meanly, falsely driven To dwell beyond the sea. O England! if the bonny Rose Was drooping on your crown, Why did you stretch a cruel hand To pluck the Thistle down? XXXIII. There's many a name of noble fame Writ in your ancient roll; There's many an honest statesman yet Of free and generous soul: Why stoop to those who cannot walk With high and upright head, Whose living souls no kindred own With thy time-honoured dead? XXXIV. The worst of all--the thrice-forsworn-- The gamester of thy fame-- How dares he deem that aftertimes Will give him aught but shame? Let monuments be reared above-- Of marble heap a hill-- The peasant's curse upon his head Shall weigh the heavier still! Díes Boreales. No. VI. CHRISTOPHER UNDER CANVASS. _Camp at Cladich._ SCENE I.--_The Wren's Nest._ TIME--_Six_ A.M. NORTH--TALBOYS--SEWARD. NORTH. You recollect the words of Edmund in Lear-- "A credulous father, and a brother noble Whose nature is so far from doing harm, That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty One's practices ride easy." This is exactly Iago with Othello--believing in virtue, using, despising it. These idolators of self think the virtuous worship imaginary, unreal Gods. But they never doubt the sincerity of the worship; and therein show a larger intelligence, a clearer insight, than those other idolators who, shut up in their own character, ascribe their own motives to all; and in virtues can see only different shapes of hypocrisy. TALBOYS. The Devil himself knows better, sir. He knows that Virtue exists; only he flatters himself that he can undermine its foundations. "And ofttimes does succeed"--seeking Evil "as contrary to His High Will whom we resist!" NORTH. The Evil Principle at war with the Good. TALBOYS. In what war soever, sir, you are once engaged, you soon feel yourself pledged to it. A few blows given on both sides settle you fast, and you no longer inquire about the cause. NORTH. To an evil soul all good is a reproach; therefore he wars on it. To the self-dissatisfied the happiness of the good is a reproach; therefore, if he be thoroughly selfish, he pulls it down. TALBOYS. Every one's impulse is to throw off pain; and if no pity, no awe, no love be there to stay him, he pulls down of course. NORTH. My dear Talboys, believe me, that, for a moment, every man has motives fit for a fiend. Perhaps he obeys--perhaps rejects them. The true fiend is constant. TALBOYS. Every man has motives fit for a fiend! I beg you to speak for yourself, my dear sir. NORTH. I speak of myself, of you, and of Iago. What is the popular apprehension or theory of the malice disclosed in "mine Ancient"--not the Old One, but the Standard-bearer? TALBOYS.