THE THIRD PART OF HENRY VI. | How well refembles it the prime of youth,
SHAKSPEARE. Trimm'd like a yonker prancing to his love!
The Morning's Dawn.

The Tranfports of a Crown.

-Do but think

How fweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whofe circuit is Elyfium,
And all that poets feign of blifs and joy.

My fons-God knows what hathbechanc'dthem:
But this I know-they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cried, "Courage, father! fight it out!"
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple faulchion painted to the hilt
In blood of thofe that had encounter'd him :
And when the hardieft warriors did retire,
Richard cried, " Charge! and give no foot of
ground!"

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And cried, A crown, or elfe a glorious tomb!
A fceptre, or an earthly fepulchre !"
With this we charg'd again: but out, alas!
We bodg'd again; as I have feen a fwan
With bootlefs labour fwim against the tide,
And spend her ftrength with over-matching

waves.

A Father's Paffion on the Murder of a favourite

Child.

O tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be feen to bear a woman's face?
Women are foft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou ftern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have ftain'd
with blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable-
O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthlefs queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dft in blood of my fweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood
Keep thou the napkin, and go boaft of this:
And, if thou tell'ft the heavy fory right,
Upon my foul, the hearers will fhed tears;

away.

ea, even my foes will fhed faft falling tears,
And say, “ Alas, it was a piteous deed!"
The Duke of York in Battle.
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The reft ftand all aloof, and bark at him.

This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day or night.

The Blefings of a Shepherd's Life.
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely fwain ;
To fit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to fee the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours muft I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my reft;
So many hours muft I contemplate;
So many hours must I fport myself;
So many days, my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks, ere the poor fools will yean;
So many months, ere I fhall fhear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pafs'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah what a life were this! how fweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter fhade
To fhepherds, looking on their filly fheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their fubjects' treachery ›

O, yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude-the fhepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted fleep under a fresh tree's fhade,
All which fecure and fweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands fparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, miftruft, and treason wait on him.
Mob.

Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind, when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust ;
Such is the lightnefs of your common men.

A Simile on ambitious Thoughts.
Why, then I do but dream on fov'reignty;
Like one that ftands upon a promontory,
And fpies a far-off fhore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye!
And chides the fea that funders him from thence,
Saying-he 'll lade it dry, to have his way.
Gloucefler's Deformity.

Why, love forfwore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I fhould not deal in her foft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some hribe
To fhrink mine arm up like a wither'd fhrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body;

;

To fhape my legs of an unequal fize
To difproportion me in every part:
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?

Gloucefter's Diffimulation.

Why, I can fimile, and murder while I fmile;
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears;
And frame my face to all occafions:
I'll drown more failors than the mermaid fhall,
I'll flay more gazers than the bafilifk;
I'll play the orator as well as Neftor,
Deceive more flily than Ulyffes could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy :
I can add colours to the cameleon;
Change fhapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And fet the murd'rous Machiavel to fchool.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Henry VI. on his own Lenity.

I have not ftopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor pofted off their fuits with flow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their fwelling griefs,
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears.
I have not been defirous of their wealth,
Nor much opprefs'd them with great fubfidies,
Nor forward of revenge, tho' they much err'd.

The Earl of Warwick's dying Speech.
Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
Why afk I that? My mangled body fhews;
Myblood, my want of ftrength, my fick heart fhews,
That I muft yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to
my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whofe arms gave fhelter to the princely eagle,
Under whofe fhade the ramping lion flept;
Whofe top-brauchoverpeer'd Jove's fpreading tree,
And kept low fhrubs from winter's powerfulwind.
Thefe eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's
black veil,

Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,
To fearch the fecret treafons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood,
Were liken'd oft to kingly fepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave
And who durft fmile, when Warwick bent his
brow?

of

Lo, now my glory fmear'd in duft and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forfake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Queen Margaret's Speech before the Battle
Tewkesbury.
Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I should
My tears gainfay; for every word I speak, [fay,
Ye fee, I drink the water of my eyes.
Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your fovereign,
Is prifoner to the foe, his ftate ufurp'd,
His realm a flaughter-houfe, his fubjects flain,
His ftatutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this fpoil:

Omens on the Birth of Richard III.
The owl fhriek'd at thy birth, an evil fign;
The night-crow cried, a boding lucklets tune;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempefts fhook down
trees;

And chattering pyes in difinal difcords fung:
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth lefs than a mother's hope;
To wit-an indigeft, deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of fuch a goodly tree.
Teeth hadft thou in thy head when thou waft born
To fignify thou cam'it to bite the world :
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'ft" into the world with thy legs for-
"ward."

§ 25. THE LIFE OF HENRY VIII SHAKSPEARE.

Anger.

To climb fteep hills,

Requires flow pace at firft. Anger is like
A full-hot horfe, who, being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him.

Action to be carried on with Refolution.
If I am

Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor perfon, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing-let me fay,
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue muft go through. We must not stint
Our neceffary actions, in the fear

To cope malicious cenfurers; which ever,
As rav'nous fishes, do a veffel follow
That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further.
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
By fick interpreters, once weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft
Hitting a groffer quality, is cried up
For our best act. If we fhall and ftill,
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
We should take root here, where we fit, or fit
State-statues only.

New Cuftoms.

-New customs,
Though they be never fo ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
The Duke of Buckingham's Prayer for the King.
-May he live

Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be!
And, when old time fhall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument !
Dependents not to be too much trufled by great Men.

This from a dying man receive as certain:
Where you are liberal of your loves, and counfels,
Be fure you be not loofe; forth fe you make friends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The leaft rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to fink ye.
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A good

Book III,

DRAMAT I C.

He

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This many fummers in a fea of glory;
"Give him a little earth for charity !"
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride So went to bed: where eagerly his fick nefs
At length broke under me; and now has left me, Purfued him ftill; and, three nights after this,
Weary, and old with fervice, to the mercy About the hour of eight (which he himself
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Foretold fhould be his laft), full of repentance,
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! Continual meditations, tears and forrows,
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
gave his honours to the world again,
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! His bieffed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
There is, betwixt that fimile we would afpire to,
That fweet afpect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Cardinal Wolfey's Speech to Cromwell.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miferies; but thou haft fore'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear ine,Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I fhall be,
And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, fay, I taught thee;
Say, Wolfey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in ;
A ture and fafe one, though thy mafter mifs'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thec, fling away ambition;
By that fin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thy felf laft; cherish thofe hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not :
Let all the ends thou aim'ft at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall it,
Cromwell,

Thou fall ft a bleffed martyr. Serve the king;
And, pr'ythee, lead me in

There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's; My robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all

His Vices and Virtues.

Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
So may he reft; his faults lie gently on him!
And yet with charity-he was a man
Of an unbounded ftomach, ever ranking
Himfelf with princes; one, that by fuggeftion
Tied all the kingdom; fimony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I' the prefence
He would fay untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never,
But where he went to ruin, pitiful:
His promifes were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.

Griff. Noble Madam,
Men's evil manners live in brafs; their virtues
We write in water.

This cardinal,
Tho' from an humble ftock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle
He was a fcholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wife, fair fpoken, and perfuading:
Lofty, and four, to them that lov'd him not;
But,tothofe men that fought him, fweet as fummer,
And though he were unfatisfied in getting
O(Which was a fin), yet in beftowing, madam,
He was molt princely: ever witness for him
Thofe twins of learning that he rais'd in you,
Ipfwich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to out-live the good he did it:
The other, though unfinifh'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still fo rifing,
That Christendom shall ever fpeak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happinefs upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the bleffednefs of being little :
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.
Malicious Men.
-Men that make

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but ferv'd my God with half the zeal
1 ferv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies!

As the fhrouds make at fea in a stiff tempeft,
As loud, and to as many tunes: Hats, cloaks,
(Doublets, I think) flew up; and, had their faces
Been loofe, this day they had been loft. Such joy
I never faw before. Great-bellied women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would fhake the prefs,
And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
Could fay," this is my wife," there; all were woven
So ftrangely in one piece.

Cardinal Wolfey's Death.

Inbumanity.
-'Tis a cruelty,

Archbishop Cranmer's Prophecy.
-Let me fpeak, Sir,

At last, with eafy roads, he came to Leicester, To load a falling man.—
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the rev'rend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave thefe words: "O father abbot,
"An old man, broken with the ftorms of state,
"Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;

For Heav n now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
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