A little weeping would ease my heart; My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, (Would that its tone could reach the rich!) She sang this "Song of the Shirt." HOOD. CLXXVIII. THE DOVER CLIFF. Edgar. Come on, sir; here's the place ;-stand still.— How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles: half-way down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: The murmuring surge, That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high:-I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. SHAKSPEARE. CLXXIX. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death, Rode the Six Hundred. "Charge!" was the captain's cry, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs not to make reply, Theirs but to do and die; Rode the Six Hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well; Rode the Six Hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, All the world wondered; Plunged in the battery smoke, Then they rode back, but not- Cannon to right of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Honour the brave and bold! TENNYSON. CLXXX. ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. Jaques. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: Even at the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice; In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; END OF PART THIRD, SHAKSPEARE. |