The Student of Padua. 15 



SCENE. A TAVERN, WITH TABLE AND GLASSES. 

 Frederick St. Cyr, Angela, Antonio, and other Venetian Gentlemen. 



Fred. A curse ! a curse upon your melancholy! 

 Why should a man be overcome by bile 

 T'expose his folly in the public ways, 

 A sign for scorn ; and make our sad humanity 

 A thing so odious and intolerable, 

 That on the very beasts we look with envy ? 



Aug. You argue right, an' we could save ourselves. 



Fred. Zounds ! but if I should say you could not help 

 Being cheerful, you would laugh at me. Then why 

 Not rule our melancholy as our mirth ? 



Aug. But Julian's fortunes are adrift the tide 

 Of destiny sets in upon his duty, 

 Threat'ning to deluge it, and yet he clings 

 Nobly, though sadly, to obedience. 



Fred. Bah ! 



Noble ? Ha ! ha ! a slave's nobility ! 



Ang. To live, we must live in the world's opinion. 



Fred. Life's a strange riddle, that some men do guess, 

 But most relinquish never understanding. 

 Few, very few do guess it. These are call'd 

 Men of the world. The many give it up 

 Are laugh'd at, cheated, cozen'd, and so die. 

 Or living, live in vain attempts to solve 

 Its mysteries mistaking right for wrong ; 

 Cavilling, carping, toiling, cursing, sinning 

 A thousand ways against observances ; 

 And waging universal war, to hold 

 An inch, a hair-breadth of existence here. 



Enter Waiter. 



What, ho ! my Ganymede ! some nectar, boy ! 



Waiter. More rum ? 



Fred. Oh ! Rum for such as we ? ye Gods ! 



Bacchus, Silenus ! thou immortal ass, 

 That bore the immortal weight ! is't come to this, 

 Men cannot judge our humours by our faces ? 

 You are from England, and have served in Grub-street, 

 Where poverty is still the poet's bride. 

 Begone, you varlet ! bring me wine, with sparkles, 

 Shall lift" my fancy to ambrosial bowers, 

 Where dance the Houris in Mahomet's heaven. 

 Nothing like wine ! nought like the generous grape ! 



4 n g. You seem to think so. You are drinking deep. 



Fred. Well, so is all the world ; of love or war, 

 Or avarice, stupidity, or something ; 

 What matter what, so long as worldly cares 

 Die with the sparkles from our goblet's glory ! 



Ang. You make the aim of living then to revel ? 



Fred. I do ! and till I find a sober man, 

 Why not ? 



Ant. I'm sober. 



Fred. Nay, now, you are drunk ! 

 Drunk with your vanity, drunk with your griefs ; 

 Drunk with a passion for your mistress ; drunk 



4n#. Enough, enough ! Angelo, art thou drunk ? 



