SCENE I.
[1st Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]
A Lane near a Village. Afternoon.
Enter ARTHUR WALTON and WILLIAM, R.S.E.
Arthur. Give me your arm, my feet tread heavily;
The sameness of this scene doth pierce my heart
With thronging recollections of the past.
There is nought chang'd—and what a world of care,
Of sorrow, passion, pleasure have I known,
Since but a natural part of this was I,
Whose voice is now a discord to the sounds
Once daily mellow'd in my youthful being.
Methinks I feel like one that long hath read
A strange and chequer'd story, and doth rise,
With a deep sigh to be himself again.
Will. One would not think, Sir, how much blood had stain'd
Old England, since we left her, finding thus
All things so peaceful; but one thing I mark'd
As we did skirt the village.
Arth. What was that?
Will. The king's face was defac'd—the sign o' the inn
At jolly Master Gurton's—mind you not
How sad it look'd? Yet 'neath it I've been gay,
A time or two; 'tis not my fortune now:
Those bright Italian skies have even marr'd
My judgment of clear ale.
Arth. I'faith 'twill need A marvellous scant repair.
Will. One jovial day Of honest mud and wholesome English fog.