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(He gives back
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! And I with tears do wash the blood away.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
curse ; Now in his life, against your holy oath?
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head : || Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.2 My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads !
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he • I should not for my life but weep with him, makes.
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. York. She-wolf of France, but worse than Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumwolves of France,
berland? • Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! | Think but upon the wrong he did us all, How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. To triumph like an Amazonian trull,
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's • Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ?
(Stabbing hinn. But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
(Stabbing him. I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,|| My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
2. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
gates ; or both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ;
So York may overlook the town of York. (Ereunt. Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified,
ACT II. That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
SCENE I.—A plain near Mortimer's Cross, in But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
Herefordshire. Drums. Enter Edward, and 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
Richard, with their
forces, marching. The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: * Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; 'Tis government,4 that makes them seem divine; * Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, The want thereof makes thee abominable : * From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ; Thou art as opposite to every good,
* Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion.5
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! * Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
heard To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
* The happy tidings of his good escape.And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? | How fares my brother? why is he so sad? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Where our right valiant father is become. Bid'st thou me rage. why, now thou hast thy wish: ll. I saw him in the battle range about; • Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. will:
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, • For raging wind blows up incessant showers, As doth a lion in a herd of neat:8 And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. * Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; * Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, - * The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. • 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, -and thee, false French- ||* So far'd our father with his enemies;
* So fled his enemies my warlike father; Norih. Beshrew me, but his passionsa move me so, ||· Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. That hardly.can I check my eyes from tears. Şee, how the morning opes her golden gates,
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals And takes her farewell of the glorious sun !9 Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd|| * How well resembles it the prime of youth, with blood :
* Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? 0, ten times more, ---than tigers of Hyrcania. Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : This cloth thou dipp’dst in blood of my sweet boy, || Not separated with the racking clouds, 10 (1) Impale, encircle with a crown.
(7) Demeaned himself. (2) Kill him (3) The distinguishing mark. (8) Neat cattle ; cows, oxen, &c.
(4) Governraent, in the language of the time, sig- (9) Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, nified evenness of temper, and decency of manners. when she dismisses him to his diurnal course. 5) The north. (6) Sufferings.
(10) i. e. The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
His dukedom and his chair with me is left. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, As if they vow'd some league inviolable : Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; In this the heaven figures some event.
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. * Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with
heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
forces. That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what • Each one already blazing by our meeds,
news abroad? Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, • Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should • And, over-shine the earth, as this the worid.
recount • Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, * Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;- by your | The words would add more anguish than the leave I speak it,
wounds. * You love the breeder better than the male: O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Enter a Messenger.
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, • But what art thou, whose heayy looks foretel Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.3 • Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on,
tears: When as the noble duke of York was slain, And now, to add more measure to your woes, * Your princely father, and my loving lord. I come to tell you things since then befall’n. • Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too | After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, much.
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, • Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
· Mess. Environed he was with many foes; Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. * And stood against them as the hope of Troy2 I then in London, keeper of the king, * Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, * But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And very well appointed, as I thought, * And many strokes, though with a little axe, March'd towards Saint Albans, to intercept the * Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
For by my scouts I was advertised,
ewept, Touching king Henry's oath, and your succes. • The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, • A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Short tale to make,-we at Saint Albans met, "Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : And, after many scors, many foul taunts, But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king, They took his head, and on the gates of York Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, • They set the same; and there it doth remain, That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; • The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. Or whether 'twas report of her success ;
Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, • Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! Who thunders to his captives_blood and death, * Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, * The flower of Europe for his chivalry; Their weapons like to lightning came and went; * And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, Our soldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight, * For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd|l. Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, thee !
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. Now my soul's palace is become a prison : I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body With promise of high pay, and great rewards : • Might in the ground be closed up in rest : But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, • For never henceforth shall I joy again,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day, • Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
So that we fled; the king, unto the queen; * Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart : | In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; * Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great For in the marches here, we heard, you were, burden;
Making another head to fight again. For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, • Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle * Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
Warwick? * And burn me up with flames, that tears would And when came George from Burgundy to Engquench.
land ? * To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: · War. Some six miles off the duke is with the # Tears, then, for babes; biows, and revenge, for
soldiers : me!
And for your brother,-he was lately sent • Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, Or die renowned by attempting it.
"With aid of soldiers to this needful war, Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant War.
wick fed :
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou | SCENE II.-Before York. Enter King Henry, bear:
Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine and Northumberland, with forces. Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town And wring the awful sceptre from his fist;
of York. Were he as famous and as bold in war,
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace,
prayer. That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me
• Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ? not;
• K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
their wreck; But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.-
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Not wittingly have 1 infring'd my vow. Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads ?
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity, Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
And harmful pity, must be laid aside. Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ?
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks.? If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. With Clifford, and the haught! Northumberland, The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And of their feather, many more proud birds,
* And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, lle swore consent to your succession,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows : His oath enrolled in the parliament;
He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And now to London all the crew are gone,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire; To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, May make against the house of Lancaster.
Didst yield consent to disinherit him, • Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Which argued thee a most unloving father. Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, Unreasonable creatures feed their young: With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, || And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, • Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings Why, via! to London will we march amain;
Which sometime they have us’dwith fearful flight) And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, * And once again cry-Charge upon our foes !
Offering their own lives in their young's defence? But never once again turn back, and fly. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick || Were it not pity that this goodly boy
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! speak :
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, * That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
And long hereafter say unto his child,
my great-grandfather and grandsire got, lean;
Ah, what a shame were this ? Look on the boy; • And when thou fall'st (as God forbid the hour!)
And let his manly face, which promiseth Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, War. No longer earl of March, but duke of To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. York;
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, • The next degree is, England's royal throne :
Inferring arguments of mighty force. For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
• But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not
That things ill got had ever bad success?
cap • Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more! • But sound the trumpets, and about our task. * Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard For all the rest is held at such a rate,
* As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, as steel
* Than in possession any jot of pleasure. * (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, * I come to pierce it,---or to give thee mine. * Edw. Then strike up,
· How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! drums ;-God, and Saint
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our George, for us
foes are nigh, Enter a Messenger.
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son; War. How now? what news? Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by Edward, kneel down.
· Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.me,
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; The queen is coming with a puissant host?
And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right. And craves your company for speedy counsel. • War. Why then it sorts 2 brave warriors: || I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, [Exeunt.
And in that quarrel use it to the death. (1) Lofty.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. (2) Why then things are as they should be.
Enter a Messenger.
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness :
hear me speak. • For, with a band of thirty thousand men,
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York ;
lips. And, in the towns as they do march along,
K. Hen. I pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue; Proclaims him king, and many fly to him :
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. • Darraign your battle for they are at hand.
Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meetClif. I would, your highpess would depart the
ing here, field;
Cannot be curd by words; therefore be still. The hath best success when you are absent.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : queen
us all, I am resolv'd, 2 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our By him that ma
• That Clifford's manhood lies fortune.
upon K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore
• Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, North. Be it with resolution then to fight.
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. Prince . My royal father, cheer these noble lords, For York in justice puts his armour on.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; And hearten those that fight in your defence : Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint
• Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says George!
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Murch. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War- Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. • Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel
2. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor
dam; • And set thy diadem upon my head;
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, * Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
Mark'd by the destinies3 to be avoided, Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. • Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king • Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee: ||(As if a channels should be call'd the sea,) I was adopted heir by his consent :
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art exSince when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
traught, You---that are king, though he do wear the crown,
• To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?6 Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand • To blot out me, and put his own son in.
To make this shameless callet? know herself. • Clif. And reason too; Who should succeed the father, but the son?
* Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, • Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, I cannot
* Although thy husband may be Menelaus ;8 speak?
* And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd • Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer
* By that false woman, as this king by thee. thee,
His father revell’d in the heart of France, Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoopi Rich. 'Twas you that killed young Rutland, was
And, had he match'd according to his state, it not?
He might have kept that glory to this day : Clif: Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
But, when he took a beggar to his bed, Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the land grac?d thy poor sire with his bridal day; fight.
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield. That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, the crown?
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. • Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued War
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? wick? dare you speak?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; When you and I met at Saint Albans last,
And we, in pity of the gentle king, Your legs did better service than your hands.
Had slipp'd our claim until another
age. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
• Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy thine.
spring, Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
* And that thy summer bred us no increase, War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me And though the edge hath soniething hit ourselves,
We set the axe to thy usurping root: thence. • North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make
• Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently ;
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; The execution of my big-swoln heart
Not willing any longer conference, Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.-Clif: I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? | Sound trumpets !- let our bloody colours wave! Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous || And either victory, or else a grave. coward,
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.
stay : (1) i. e. Arrange your host, put your host in order. (5) Kennel was then pronounced channel. (2) It is my firm persuasion.
(6) To show thy meanness of birth by thy inde3) One branded by nature.
cent railing. Gilt is a superficial covering of gold.
(8) i. e. A cuckold.
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. * This may plant courage in their quailing2 breasts ;
[Exeunt.l * For yet is hope of life, and victory.
* Fore-slow3 no longer, make we hence amain. SCENE III.- A field of battle between Towton
[Exeunt. and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick.
SCENE IV.--The same. Another part of the
field. Excursions. Enter Richard and Cliford. • War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe :
• Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, *Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, Have robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength, l. And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, • And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while. • Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Enter Edward, running.
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; • Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; death!
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death, • For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is And checrs these hands, that slew thy sire and clouded.
And so, have at thee.
[They fight. Warwick enters ; Clifford flies. * Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
• Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
chase; • What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?
· For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exe. • Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with SCENEV.-Another part of the field. Alarum. wings;
Enter King Henry · And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
* K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's Enter Richard.
war, • Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn * When dying clouds contend with growing light; thyself?
* What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, * Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,|* Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. • Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
And, in the very pangs of death, he cried, - • Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; • Like to a disinal clangor heard from far,- • Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! · Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : • So underneath the belly of their steeds, • Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; • That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, • Now, one the better; then, another best; • The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
• Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, • War. Then let the earth be drunken with our • Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : blood :
So is the equal poise of this fell war. I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
* Here on this molehill will I sit me down. * Why siand we like soft-hearted women here, * To whom God will, there be the victory! * Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; • For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, * And look upon, as if the tragedy
· Have chid me from the battle; swearing both, * Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? They prosper best of all when I am thence. • Here on my knee I vow to God above,
"'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so: • I'll never pause again, never stand still, • For what is in this world, but grief and wo? • Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, * () God! methinks, it were a happy life, • Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
• To be no better than a homely swain ; Edw. 0 Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; || * To sit upon a hill, as I do now, • And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.- * To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, * And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, || * Thereby to see the minutes how they run : *I throw my hands, inine eyes, my heart to thee, * How many make the hour fuil complete, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings! * How many hours bring about the day, • Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands, * How many days will finish
year, • That to my foes this body must be prey,
* How many years a mortal man may live. • Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, * When this is known, then to divide the times : • And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!-- * So many hours must I tend my flock; * Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, * So many hours must I take my rest; Where'er it be, in beaven, or on earth.
* So many hours must I contemplate ; • Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ;-and, gentle * So many hours must I sport myself; Warwick,
* So many days my ewes have been with young; · Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:- * So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; •I, that did never weep, now melt with wo, * So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : • That winter should cut off our spring-time so. * So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, • IVar. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, * Pass'd over to the end they were created, farewell.
* Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. • Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, * Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! • And give them leave to fiy that will not stay ; * Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade And call them pillars, that will stand to us; * To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, • And, if we thrive, proinise them such rewards * Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy • As victors wear at the Olympian games :
(2) Sinking into dejection. (1) And are mere spectators.
(3) To fore-slow is to be dilatory, to loiter.