QUOTATIONS FROM THE PLAY OF HENRY THE SECOND.
As the composition of Henry the Second was esteemed so far superior to my Vortigern, I shall in the present instance insert a few passages which were deemed most striking by those gentlemen who were in the habits of frequenting Mr. Samuel Ireland's mansion.
The following lines appear in that scene where the King is first supposed to meet Rosamond de Clifford; being meant as descriptive of himself.
Henry. O that I could mellow this iron tongue, And fashion it to music of soft love!
But so it is, from my childhood upwards
I have been bred in hoarse and jarring war:
My spring of youth within a camp was spent:
There have I sat upon a soldier's knee;
Whilst round my neck was twin'd a giant arm,
So toughly set that one might say indeed
The sinews that did work it were of brass:
There 'twas I learnt the soldier's untun'd song,
The morning's onset, and the bloody 'fray.
Here cours'd the bristly man'd and foaming steed,
With fire-spitting eyes and trampling hoof;
Upon whose back bestrode an English knight.
Unnumber'd were the youths of France he slew,
Of Bourbon's sons or Orléans' proud heirs.
How many pedigrees and cotes d'armures
Beneath his mighty arm were blotted out!
Whilst smoking from their horses' flanks ran down
The blood of all their proud nobility.
Then would he tell how long the fight did last,→→→→
From six i'the morn till ev'ning clocks toll'd eight;
How then they bore from off the blood-stain'd field
Their clay-cold fathers, brothers, countrymen.-
Here would he pause awhile
(For memory did whisper pleasures past),
Till I with childish innocence look'd up,
And bade him to go on.-But, oh! the sight
Turn'd towards, was his glittering eyes.
Whilst the big tears from off his rugged chin
Rain'd down upon my young and beardless face,
I would have chid his silence, but could not;
For if such sturdy hearts as his could melt,
Why, then methought there must be cause indeed.—
This, lady, was my school; thus was I taught:
And if such tales can please thy tender ear,
Rough and unpolish'd as most true they are,
Behold the man will sit the live-long day,
Of lingering sieges, marchings, battles, tell;
Where thirsty Mars so glut hath been with blood,
That sick'ning appetite yearn'd out "no more!"
The ensuing lines were given to the King, in one of the scenes where he is. supposed to express his ardent passion for the object that enslaved his mind.
Henry. Yes, sweet love! but Venus too was busy ;
And whilst she did bedeck thee with her charms,
Was pleas'd so with the work, that she ne'er thought.
How she herself had stripp'd, giving thee all!
As I kiss thee, methinks sweet Love himself
Sits on thy front, and waves thy silv'ry hair,
As, jealous, he would keep me from the theft.
Yet he ne'er thinks how ev'ry gentle touch,
From these, his silken whips, make it more sweet;
For, gliding o'er my lips, they do distil
Thick golden odours, to the taste as sweet
As sleepy dove's eyes to the love-sick heart.
The annexed speeches were given to the haughty Becket, in different parts of the play of Henry the Second, and were much dwelt upon by numerous persons who esteemed themselves perfect judges of Shakspeare's style and his mode of expression.
Becket. Why, thus and thus it is: the matter argu'd, Both parts justly weigh'd and well consider'd,.
Judgement too given with no partial tongue,
Will speak this verdict :-
Happiness with Ambition bears no kin:
For thus: Content dwells not with Ambition';
And he who lacks content lacks happiness.
This lab'ring mind, then, tells me 't would be happy, Yet whispers "I would fain be greater too."—
Peace! thou vile intruding mass of folly!
Thou'dst willingly embrace two properties
Which bear such hatred and dread enmity
That soon they'd kindle, blaze, and burn thee up.
Of one then make thy choice: more thou canst not.-
Give me, then, greatness. Hath not Fortune bow'd,
Stoop'd, cring'd, yea knelt, that I should raise her up?
For what was Becket but a poor man's son,
That walks the common vulgar road of life :
Dies when dead, is quite forgotten?
What is Becket now?--the friend of Theobald !
Who ranks in station and in dignity
Next to the king himself; yea, and more too,
For he doth bear the crown of holy church,
Is king and sov'reign o'er the souls of men,
And not of earthly matters the frail judge.
Becket. What! e'en so? archdeacon of Aye, and, if my senses do not mock me, More shall be thine ere long. So went the tune; And in conclusion, "Thou mayst command me."Now, Becket, say to thyself, Wouldst be poor? Wouldst shun ambition? Wouldst spurn at greatness? No! no! thou'rt anhunger'd, and I will feed thee. Off, then, vile suit! go cover silly knaves,
That know to cringe whene'er the great man frowns.→→→
Henceforth be thou stubborn, proud, and haughty.
If majesty do frown, knit thou thy brow
If he do smile, why then be thou placid:
Yet always bear in mind thy dignity.-
But hold! Who is't comes hither to lord me?
Brave Harry! proud, and haughty too, as I.
Noble his spirit as his mind is great:
Distant to those whom most he doth esteem;
Yea, in so much that no man e'er could say
"I was the friend, the favour'd, of my prince."
If so, Becket, how compass thy great ends?
Shame! thou fickle mind, wilt thou flag at last?
Doth not the seaman, for some hundred marks,
Plough the rude waves, and in a little case,
In compass scarcely bigger than a needle's eye
When floating on this vasty element,
Doth he not risk both life and wealth to boot;
And shall Becket be afraid? Fie! shame on't!
Oh, attend then, each organ of the soul:
Hear thy stern lord's peremptory decree,
And on thy coronet 'grave thou these words,—
"If Becket lives, then lives he in greatness;
"If not, why then content let Becket die."
Life sans renown a thing so lowly is,
That dusky oblivion were sweeter far.
Becket. The dying man that can thus sweetly sleep, Must wear a soul within his outward flesh
That knows no sin.-How gently heaves his breast
All cover'd with the silky snow-white beard!
He smiles, as if an angel kiss'd his lips,
And whisper'd him of joys that were to come.
Sweet soul! thou hast an everlasting seat,
A throne in Heav'n above.-Could men but look,
And see a sight like this, they were all blest :
Sin would grow out of date, would be forgot.
Becket. Man hath his day of joy and misery.
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