Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

9
with these is like Him who wanders by the thina poluphloisboio thalasses, and shrinks awestruck
before that Azure Mystery."
Emily's eyes filled with fresh-gushing dew. "Speak on, speak ever thus, my George," she
exclaimed. Barnwell's chains rattled as the confiding girl clung to him. Even Snoggin, the
turnkey appointed to sit with the Prisoner, was affected by his noble and appropriate
language, and also burst into tears.
"You weep, my Snoggin," the Boy said; "and why? Hath Life been so charming to me that I
should wish to retain it? hath Pleasure no after-Weariness? Ambition no Deception; Wealth
no Care; and Glory no Mockery? Psha! I am sick of Success, palled of Pleasure, weary of
Wine and Wit, and—nay, start not, my Adelaide—and Woman. I fling away all these things
as the Toys of Boyhood. Life is the Soul's Nursery. I am a Man, and pine for the
Illimitable! Mark you me! Has the Morrow any terrors for me, think ye? Did Socrates falter
at his poison? Did Seneca blench in his bath? Did Brutus shirk the sword when his great
stake was lost? Did even weak Cleopatra shrink from the Serpent's fatal nip? And why
should I? My great Hazard hath been played, and I pay my forfeit. Lie sheathed in my
heart, thou flashing Blade! Welcome to my Bosom, thou faithful Serpent; I hug thee, peacebearing
Image of the Eternal! Ha, the hemlock cup! Fill high, boy, for my soul is thirsty for
the Infinite! Get ready the bath, friends; prepare me for the feast To-morrow—bathe my
limbs in odors, and put ointment in my hair."
"Has for a bath," Snoggin interposed, "they're not to be 'ad in this ward of the prison; but I
dussay Hemmy will git you a little hoil for your 'air."
The Prisoned One laughed loud and merrily. "My guardian understands me not, pretty
one—and thou? what sayest thou? From those dear lips methinks—plura sunt oscula quam
sententiae—I kiss away thy tears, dove!—they will flow apace when I am gone, then they
will dry, and presently these fair eyes will shine on another, as they have beamed on poor
George Barnwell. Yet wilt thou not all forget him, sweet one. He was an honest fellow, and
had a kindly heart for all the world said—"
"That, that he had," cried the gaoler and the girl in voices gurgling with emotion. And you
who read! you unconvicted Convict—you murderer, though haply you have slain no one—
you Felon in posse if not in esse—deal gently with one who has used the Opportunity that
has failed thee—and believe that the Truthful and the Beautiful bloom sometimes in the
dock and the convict's tawny Gabardine!