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The noise was high. Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall the come in? were 't good?
I think the ftirs again :-no.-What 's the best?
If the come in, the 'll fure fpeak to my wife :-
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O infupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipfe
Of fun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

His Love for ber.

Had he been true,

If heaven would make me fuch another world, Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

His bitter Remorse.

Behold! I have a weapon:

A better never did itself fuftain
Upon a foldier's thigh: I've feen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good fword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop.-But, O vain boaft!

Who can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.
Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd.
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very fea-mark of my utmost fail.
Do you go back difmay'd? 'tis a loft fear;
Man but a rush againft Othello's breast,
And he retires: where fhould Othello go?
Now-how doft thou look now? O ill-ftarr'd
wench!

Pale as thy fmock! when we fhall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heaven,
And fiends will fnatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
E'en like thy chastity.-

O curfed, curfed flave!-Whip me, ye devils,
From the poffeffion of this heavenly fight!
Blow me about in winds! roaft me in fulphur!
Wafh me in fteep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona! Defdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

His laft Speech.

4

Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the ftate fome fervice, and they know it;
No more of that.-I pray you, in your letters,
When you fhall thefe unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am nothing extenuate,
Nor fet down aught in malice: then muft you
fpeak

Of one that lov'd not wifely, but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whofe hand,
Like the bafe Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whofe fubdued

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§ 31. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. SHAKSPEARE. Reputation.

THE pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is ipotlefs reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
Cowardice.

That which in mean men we intitle patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts.

Banifoment, Confolation under it.

All places that the eye of Heaven vifits,
Are to a wife man ports and happy havens:
Teach thy neceflity to reafon thus;
There is no virtue like neceflity.
Think not the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the king exil'd thee :-Or suppose,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it
And thou art flying to a frefher clime.
To lie that waythou go'ft, not whence thou com'st:
Suppofe the finging-birds muficians ;
The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the prefence
ftrew'd;

The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance:
For gnarling forrow hath lefs power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and fets it light.

Thoughts ineffe&ual to moderate Affliction.
O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucafus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feaft?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantastic fummer's heat?
O, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse :
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.
Popularity.

Ourfelf, and Bufhy, Bagot here, and Green,
Obferv'd his courtship to the common people:
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy;
Wooing poor craftfinen, with the craft of fmiles,
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 't were, to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God fpeed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee:
With-"Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
As were our England in reverfion his, [friends;]
And he our fubjects' next degree in hope.

England.

This royal throne of kings, this fceptred ifle, This earth of majesty, this feat of Mars, This other Eden, demy-paradife; This fortrefs, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war;

This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of lefs happier lands.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whofe rocky fhore beats back the envious fiege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with fhame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a fhameful conqueft of itself.

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The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed ftars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth;
And lean-look'd prophets whifper fearful change;
Rich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap

Richard to England, on bis Arrival.
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and fmiles in meeting;
So weeping, fmiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy fovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous fenfe :
But let thy fpiders, that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with ufurping steps do trample thee.
Yield tinging nettles to mine enemies :
And when they from thy bofom pluck a flow'r,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
Whofe double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy fovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, lords;
This earth fhall have a feeling, and these ftones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

The Sun rifing after a dark Night.
-Know'ft thou not,

That, when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when from under this terreftrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their

backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

On the Vanity of Power, and Mifery of Kings.
No matter where; of comfort no man fpeak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth.
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes

Let's choose executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath,
Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which ferves as pafte and cover to our bones.
For heaven's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad ftories of the death of kings:
How fome have been depos'd, fome flain in war;
Some haunted by the ghofts they have depos'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives, fome fleeping kill'd;
All murder'd:-For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court: and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his ftate, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit;
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable: and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his caftle walls,and-farewel king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn rev'rence; throw away refpe&,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty.
For you have but miftook me all this while :
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends-fubjected thus,

How can you fay to me-I am a king?
Melancholy Stories.

In winter's tedious nights, fit by the fire,
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages long ago betid:

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And fend the hearers weeping to their beds.
A Defcription of Bolingbroke's and Richard's Entry
into London.

Then, as I faid, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his afpiring rider seem'd to know—
With flow, but ftately pace, kept on his course;
While all tongues cried, God fave thee, Boling-
broke!

You would have thought the very windows fpake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through cafements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his vifage; and that all the walls,
With painted imag'ry, had faid at once,
Jefu preferve thee! welcome Bolingbroke!
Whilft he, from one fide to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud fteed's neck,
Bespoke them thus-I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Duch.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the Grim-vifag'd war hath fmooth'd his wrinkled

while?

York. As in a theatre the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did fcow! on Richard; no man cried,God fave him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome hoine; But duft was thrown upon his facred head; Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off, His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles, The badges of his grief and patienceThat had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, fteel'd The hearts of men,they must perforce have melted, And barbarifm itself have pitied him.

Violets.

Who are the violets now, That ftrew the green lap of the new-come fpring

King Richard's Soliloquy in Prifon.

I have been studying how I may compare This prifon, where I live, unto the world; And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it yet I 'll haminer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my foul; My foul, the father: and thefe two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these fame thoughts people this little world; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune's flaves, Nor fhall not be the laft; like filly beggars,

front;

And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the fouls of fearful adversaries—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lafcivious pleafing of a lute.
But I, that am not fhap'd for fportive tricks,
Nor made to court an am'rous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely ftamp'd, and want love's majesty,
To ftrut before a wanton, ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by diffembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, fent before my time
Into this breathing world, fcarce half made up,
And that fo lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
Why I, in this meek piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pafs away the time,
Unless to spy my fhadow in the fun,
And defcant on my own deformity:
And therefore-fince I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain thefe fair, well-fpoken days-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Richard's Love for Lady Anne.

Thofe eyes of thine from mine have drawn falt

tears,

Sham'd their afpects with ftore of childish drops;
Thefe eyes, which never fhed remorseful tear-
Not, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford fhook his fword at him;
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the fad ftory of my father's death;
And twenty times made pauie, to fob, and weep,
That all the ftanders-by had wet their cheeks,

Who, fitting in the ftocks, refuge their fhame-Like trees bedafh'd with rain: in that fad time,

That many have, and others must fit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of cafe,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of fuch as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one prifon, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I a king;
Then treafon makes me with myself a beggar;
And fo I am: then crushing penury
Perfuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by and by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing.—But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,

With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be cas'd
With being nothing.-

[ing:

My manly eyes did fcorn an humble tear;
And what thefe forrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weep-
I never fued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet foothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart fues, and prompts my tongue to
Speak.

On bis own Perfox, after bis fuccefsful Addresses,
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my perfon all this while :
Upon my life, the finds, although I cannot,
Myfelf to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glafs;
And entertain a fcore or two of taylors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,

$32. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING I will maintain it with fome little coft.

RICHARD III.

SHAKSPEARE.

Riebard, on his own Deformity.

Now
Our bruifed arms hung up for monuments;
Our ftern alarums chang'd to merry meetings;
Our dreadful marchies to delightful measures,

are our brows bound with victorious
wreaths;

Queen Margaret's Execration.

The worm of confcience ftill begnaw thy foul! Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou liv'ft, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No fleep clofe up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be when fome tormenting dream Affiights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

They

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Richard's Hypocrily.

But then I figh, and, with a piece of fcripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends, ftolen forth of holy writ,
And seem a faint, when most I play the devil.
Clarence's Dream,

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray
you tell me.
[Tower,
Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And, in my company, my brother Glo'fter;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward
England,

And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Glo'fter ftumbled; and, in falling.

Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noife of water in my ears!
What fights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I faw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the fca.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in thofe holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in fcorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the flimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you fuch leifure in the time of death
To gaze upon these fecrets of the deep ?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I ftrive
To yield the gholt; but ftill the envious flood
Kept in my foul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air;
But fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burft to belch it in the fea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony?
Clar. O no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempeft to my foul !
I país'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferry-man which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

A fhadow like an angel, with bright la'r Dabbled in blood; and he fhriek'd out aloud"Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Cla

"rence

"That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
"Seize on him, furies, take him to your tor-
"ments!"

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Inviron'd me, and howled in mine cars
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise
I trembling wak'd; and, for a feafon after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done those things
That now give evidence againft my foul,
For Edward's fake; and fee how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
O fpare my guiltlefs wife, and my poor children!

Sorrow.

Sorrow breaks feafons and repofing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
Greatness, its Cares.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of reftlefs cares:
So that, between their titles and low name,

There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
Duchess of York on the Misfortunes of ber Family,
Accurfed and unquiet wrangling days!
How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
My husband loft his life to get the crown,
And often up and down my fons were tofs'd,
For me to joy and weep their gain and lofs :
And being feated, and domeftic broils

Clean overblown, themfelves, the conquerors,
Make war upon themfelves; brother to brother,
Blood to blood, felf against felf:-O prepofterous
And frantic outrage! end thy damned spleen;
Or let me die, to look on death no more.
Deceit.

Ah! that deceit fhould fteal fuch gentle shapes,
And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!
Submiffion to Heaven, our Duty.

In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to pay a debt,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more, to be thus oppofite with Heaven,
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

The Vanity of Truft in Man.

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Who builds his hope in air of your fair locks,
Lives like a drunken failor on a maft;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
Contemplation.

The first that there did greet my ftranger foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud" What fcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford falfe Clarence?"
And fo he vanith's, Then came wand'ring by | so fweet is zealous conte.... p ation.

7

When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to dra then thence

Defcription

Defcription of the Murder of the two young Princes

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in the Tower.

Hope.

True Hope is fwift, and flies with swallow's
wings;

Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
A fine Evening.

The weary fun hath made a golden fet ;
And, by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
Day-break.

The filent hours steal on,

Richmond's Prayer.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done; The moft arch-deed of piteous maffacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton, and Forreft, whom I did fuborn To do this piece of ruthlefs butchery, Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and mild compaffion, Wept like two children, in their death's fad story. "O thus, quoth Dighton, "lay the gentle babes!" And flaky darkness breaks within the east. "Thus, thus," quoth Forreft, "girdling one ano"Within their alabafter innocent arms; [the "Their lips were four red rofes on a stalk, "Which, in their fummerbeauty, kifs'd each other. "A book of prayers on their pillow lay, [mind; "Which once,"quoth Forreft," almoft chang'd my "But, O the devil :"-there the villain ftopp'd. When Dighton thus told on-" We fmothered "The most replenished fweet work of nature, "That, from theprime creation, e'er the fram'd." Hence both are gone with confcience and remorfe: They could not fpeak; and fo I left them both To bear thefe tidings to the bloody king.

Expedition.

Come-I have learn'd that fearful commenting
Is leaden fervitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and fnail-pac'd beggary :
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

Queen Margaret's Exprobation.

I call'd thee then, poor fhadow, painted queen;
One heav'd ahigh to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou waft; a garith flag,
To be the aim of ev'ry dang'rous fhot;
A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jeft, only to fill the fcene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers:
Where be thy two foas? wherein dot thou joy?
Who fues, and kneels, and fays, God fave the
queen?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee what now thou art.
For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being fued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that scorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the courfe of juftice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.

His Mother's Character of King Richard.
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy fchool-days frightful, delp'rate, wild, and
[turous;
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven-
Thy age confirin'd, proud, fubtle, fly, and bloody.

furious;

O thou! whofe captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
Put in their hands thy bruifing irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
Th' ufurping helmets of our adverfaries!
Make us thy minifters of chaftifement,
That we may praife thee in thy victory!
To thee i do commend my watchful foul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes;
Sleeping, and waking, O defend me ftill!

Richard farting out of bis Dream.

Give me another horfe-bind up my wounds-
O coward confcience, how doft thou afflict me
Have mercy, Jefu !-Soft, I did but dream.
The lights burn blue-is it not dead midnight!
Cold fearful drops ftand on my trembling flefh.
What do I fear? myfelf? there's none else by.
Confcience.

Confcience is but a word that cowards ufe,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.
Richard before the Battle.

A thousand hearts are great within my bofom.
Advance our standards, fet upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George,
Infpire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! victory fits on our helms.

Alarum. Enter King Richard.
K. Richard. A horfe! a horfe! my kingdom
for a horfe!

CateЛb. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse.

K. Richard. Slave, I have fet my life upon a caft,
And I will stand the hazard of the dye:

I think there be fix Richmonds in the field;
Five have I flain to-day, inftead of him.
A horfe! a horfe! my kingdom for a horse!
[Exeunt.

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