And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean, and the river Po),
It draws toward fupper in conclufion, so.
But this is worshipful fociety,
And fits the mounting fpirit, like myself:
For he is but a baftard to the time,
That doth not fmack of obfervation.
This royal infant (Heaven ftill move about her!), (Saving in dialogue of compliment;
Tho' in a cradle, yet now promifes
Upon this land a thousand, thousand bleffings,
Which time fhall bring to ripenefs. She fhall be
(But few now living can behold that goodnefs)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that fhall fucceed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul fhall be. All princely graces,
That mould up fuch a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurfe her;
Holy and heavenly thoughts ftill counfel her.
She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall blefs
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, [her;
Aud hang their heads with forrow. Good grows
In her days, ev'ry man fhall eat in fafety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and fing
The merry fongs of peace to all his neighbours.
Colfhall be truly known; and thofe about her
From her fhall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by thofe claim their greatnefs, not by blood.
Nor fhall this peace fleep with her; but, as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her afhes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as herfelf;
So fhall the leave her bleffednefs to one
A Defcription of England.
That pale, that white-fac'd fhore,
Whofe foot fpurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her iflanders;
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmoft corner of the west,
Salute thee for her king.
Defcription of an English Army.
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces ftrong, his foldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother queen,
An Até stirring him to blood and ftrife;
With her, her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king deceas'd;
And all the unfettled humours of the land-
Rath, inconfiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' fpleens-
Have fold their fortunes at their native homes,
(When Heaven fhall call her from this cloud of Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
Who, from the facred-afhes of her honour,
Shall ftar-like rife, as great in fame as the was,
And fo ftand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth,
That were the fervants to this chofen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
Wherever the bright fun of heaven fhall fhine,
His honour and the greatnefs of his name
Shall be, and make new nations. He fhall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
Toall the plains about him: our children's children
Shall fee this, and blefs Heaven.
$26. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN.
GOOD-den, Sir Richard-God a' mercy,
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:
For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
'Tis too refpective and too fociable
For your converfion. Now your traveller-
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess:
And when my knightly ftomach is fuffic'd,
Why then I fuck my teeth, and catechife
My picked man of countries:- My dear Sir,
(Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin)
I fhall befeech you"-that is question now;
And then comes anfwer like an A B C book
O Sir," fays anfwer," at your best command,
At your cinployment, at your fervice, Sir:"
"No. Sir," fays queftion, "1, fweet Sir, at yours."
And fo, ere anfwer knows what queftion would,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless fpirits,
Did never float upon the fwelling tide,
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
To do offence and feath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumftance; they are at hand.
Courage.
By how much unexpected, by fo much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occafion.
What cracker is this fame, that deafs our ears
With this abundance of fuperfluous breath?
Defcription of Victory, by the French.
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in;
Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whofe fons lie fcatter'd on the bleeding ground;
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the difcolour'd earth;
And victory, with little lofs, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French;
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors.
That is removed by a staff of France;
Our colours do return in thofe fame hands
I will inftruct my forrows to be proud;
That did difplay them when we first march'd forth; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
And, like a jolly troop of huntímen, come
Our lufty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying flaughter of their foes.
If lufty love fhould go in queft of beauty,
Where thould he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in fearch of virtue,
Where fhould he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If love, ambitious, fought a match of birth,
Whofe veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch:
On Commodity, or Self-Intereft.
-Rounded in the car
O Lymoges! O Auftria! thou dost shame That bloody fpoil: thou flave, thou wretch, thou coward;
Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever ftrong upon the stronger fide!
Thou fortune's champion, that doft never fight,
But when her humorous ladyfhip is by,
To teach thee fafety! thou art perjur'd too,
And footh'ft up greatnefs. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool! to brag, to ftamp, and swear,
Upon my party! thou cold-blooded flave,
Haft thou not fpoke like thunder on my fide?
Been fworn my foldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy ftars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And doft thou now fall over to my foes?
With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil;
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith;
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids-Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it, for fhame,
Who having no external thing to lofe
But the word maid—cheats the poor maid of that
That fimooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commo-
dity-
Commodity, the bias of the world;
The world, which of itfelf is poifed well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This fway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, courfe, intent;
And this fame bias, &c.
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What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look fo fadly on my fon?
What means that hand upon that breaft of thine
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er its bounds?
Be thefe fad figns confirmers of thy words?
Then fpeak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
A Mother's Fondness for a beautiful Child.
If thou, that bid'it me be content, were grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I fhould not love thee: no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deferve a crown.
But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy!
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great :
Of nature's gifts thou mayft with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rofe.
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
The Horrors of a Confpiracy.
I had a thing to fay-but, let it go:
The fun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleafures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience. If the midnight-bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this fame were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that furly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick
(Which elfe uns tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot laughter keep men's eyes,
And train their cheeks to idle merriment,
A pathon hateful to my purposes);
Or if that thou couldft fee me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, ufing conceit alone
Without eyes, ears, and harmful found of words;
Then, in defpight of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bofom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not.-
I am not mad; this hair I tear, is mine;
My name is Conftance, I was Geffrey's wife:
Young Arthur is my fon, and he is loft:
I am not mad-I would to heaven I were !
For then 'tis like I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief fhould I forget!
Preach fome philofophy to make ine mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reafonable part produces reafon
How I may be deliver'd of thefe woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I fhould forget my fon,
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he
I am not mad; too well, too well 1 feel
The diffrent plague of each calamity.
Apoftrophe to Death.
--O amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! found rottennefs!
Arife forth from the couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kifs thy deteftable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring thefe fingers with thy houfchold worms;
And ftop this gap of breath with fulfome duft,
And be a carrion monfter like thy felf:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou finil'ft,
And bufs thee as thy wife! mifery's love,
O, come to me!
Father Cardinal, I have heard you say, That we fhall fee and know our friends in heaven If that be true, I fhall fee my boy again; For, fince the birth of Cain, the firft male-child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not fuch a gracious creature born. But now will canker forrow cat my bud, And chafe the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghoft; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And fo he'll die; and, rifing fo again, When I fhall meet him in the court of heaven, I fhall not know him therefore, never, never Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heinous a refpect of grief. Conft. He talks to me, that never had a fon K. Phil. You are as fond of grief,as of your child. Conft. Grief fills the room up of my abfent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuff's out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it, cunning: do, and if you will;
If Heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why then you muft.-Will you put out mine eyes?
Thefe eyes, that never did, nor never fhall,
So much as frown on you?-
Alas, what need you be fo boift 'rous rough?
I will not ftruggle, I will ftand ftone-ftill.
For Heaven's fake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not ftir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thruft but thefe men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.-
Is there no remedy?
Hub. None, but to lofe your eyes. [yours,
Arth. O Heaven! that there were but a moth in
A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious fenfe!
Then, feeling what fimallthings are boift 'rous there,
Your vile intent muft needs feem horrible.
To add to Perfection, fuperfluous, and fufpicious.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To fmooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light
To feek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wafteful and ridiculous excefs.
In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old forin is much disfigured:
There's nothing in this world can make me joy: And, like a fhifted wind unto a fail,
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowfy man.
Departing Difrales.
Before the curing of a strong difcafe,
Even in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is ftrongeft; evils that take leave,
On their departure moft of all thew evil.
Danger lays hold of any Support.
He that ftands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
Arthur's pathetic Speeches to Hubert.
Methinks, nobody thould be fad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my Christendom,
So were I out of prifon, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long.
Have you the heart? when your head did butake,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows
(The beft I had, a princefs wrought it me),
And I did never afk it you again':
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ;
Saving, what lack you? and, where lies your grief
Or, what good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's fon would have la'n itill,
It makes the courfe of thoughts to fetch about
i
Startles and frights confideration;
Makes found opinion fick, and truth fufpected,
For putting on fo new a fafhion'd robe.
Murderer's Look.
This is the man fhould do the bloody deed;
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that clofe afpect of his
Does thew the mood of a much troubled breast.
Struggling Confcience.
The colour of the king doth come and go Between his purpofe and his confcience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles fet: His pallion is fo ripe, it needs must break. News-tellers on the Death of Arthur. Old men and beldams, in the streets, Do prophefy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths And, when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whifper one another in the ear; And he that fpeaks doth gripe the hearer's wrift; Whiles he that hears makes fearful action, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I faw a finith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth, fwallowing a taylor's news; Who, with his thears and mcature n his hand, Standing on flippers (which his nimble hafte
Had falfely thruft upon contrary feet),
Told of a many thoufand warlike French,
That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. Kings' evil Purposes too fervilely and baftily executed.
It is the curfe of kings, to be attended By flaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break into the bloody houfe of life; And, on the winking of authority,
To understand a law; to know a meaning
Of dang'rous majefty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect.
A Villain's Look, and wicked Zeal.
How oft the fight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done! Hadeft not thou been by,
A fellow, by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and fign'd, to do a deed of thame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
Hadit thou but shook thy head, or made a paufe,
When I fpake darkly what I purposed;
Or turc'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
Or bid me tell my tale in exprefs words;
Deep fhame had ftruck me dumb, made me break
off,
[me.
And thofe thy fears might have wrought fears in
Hepocrify.
Truft not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without fuch rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorfe and innocency.
If thou didst but confent
To this moft cruel act, do but despair,
And, if thou want ft a cord, the fmalleft thread
That ever fpider twifted from her womb
Will ferve to ftrangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on: or, wouldst thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it fhall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle fuch a villain up.
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That filverly doth progrefs on thy cheeks:
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effufion of fuch manly drops,
This show'r, blown up by tempeft of the foul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd,
Than had I feen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend thefe waters to thofe baby-eyes
That never faw the giant-world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of goffiping.
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another fhall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder.
The Approach of Death.
It is too late, the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which fome fuppofe the foul's frail dwelling houfe)
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretel the ending of mortality.
Madness, occafioned by Poison.
Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow-room,
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is fo hot a fummer in my bofom,
That all my bowels crumble up to duft:
I am a fcribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I fhrink up.
Poifon'd-ill fare-dead, forfook, caft off:
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thruft his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their courfe
Thro' my burnt bofom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips
And comfort me with cold.
England invincible, if unanimous. England never did (nor never fhall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it firft did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we fhall fhock them:-Nought fhall make us If England to itself do reft but true.
§ 27. JULIUS CÆSAR.
Patriotifm. WHAT is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently: For, let the Gods fo fpeed me, as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. Caffius, in contempt of Cæfar.
I was born free as Cæfar; fo were you?
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gufty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his fhores,
Cæfar fays to me, " Dar'ft than, Caffius, now,
Leap in with me into this
angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?"-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow: fo, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lufty finews; throwing it afide,
And stemming it with hearts of controverfy.
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, Plead for our int'reft.
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
Cæfar cried, "Help me, Caffius, or I fink."
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchifes bear, fo from the waves of Tyber Therein, ye Gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Did I the tired Cæfar: and this man
Is now become a god; and Caffius is
Nor ftony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor ftrong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to difmifs itself.
If I know this, know all the world befides,
That part of tyranny, that I do bear,
I can thake off at pleasure.
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæfar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain;
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did thake: 'tis true, this god did fhake;
His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that fame eye,whofe bend doth awe the world,
Did lofe his luftre: I did hear him groan :
Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his fpeeches in their books,
Alas! it cried-"Give me fome drink, Titi-But when he once attains the upmoft round,
As a fick girl.
Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of fuch a feeble temper should
So get the start of this majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.
Bru. Another general shout!
I do believe that thefe applaufes are
For fome new honours that are heap'd on Cæfar.
Caf. Why, man, he doth beftride the narrow
Like a Coloffus; and we petty men [world
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves difhonourable graves.
Men at fome time are mafters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourfelvcs, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Cæfar: what should be in that Cæfari
Why should that name be founded more than
Ambition, covered with specious Humility.
But 'tis a common proof,
That lowlinefs is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upward turns his face :
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, fcorning the base degrees
By which he did afcend.
Confpiracy dreadful till executed.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantafma, or a hideous dream:
The genius, and the mortal inftruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, fuffers then
The nature of an infurrection.
Confpiracy.
O, confpiracy!
Sham'ft thou to fhew thy dangerous brow by night,
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
When evils are most free? O, then, by day
To mafk thy monstrous vifage? Seek none, con-
Hide it in fmiles and affability. [fpiracy;
Not Erebus itfelf were dim enough
For if thou path, thy native femblance on,
To hide thee from prevention.
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a fpirit as foon as Cæfar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæfar feed,
That he is grown fo great Age, thou art fham'd: Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
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Rome, thou haft loft the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, fince the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man
When could they fay till now, that talk 'd of Rome,
That her wide walks encompafs'd but one man?
Cafar's Diflike of Caffius.
Against Cruelty.
Gentle friends,
Let's carve him as a difh fit for the Gods,
Not hew him as a carcafe fit for hounds:
And let our hearts, as fubtle mafters do,
Stir up their fervants to an act of rage,
And after feem to chide them.
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of flumber :
Would he were fatter!-but I fear him not: Thou haft no rigures, nor no fantasies, Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I fhould avoid,
So foon as that fpare Caffius. He reads much;
He is a great obferver, and he looks
Quite thro' the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thon doft, Antony; he hears no mufic:
Seldom he fmiles; and fimiles in fuch a fort,
As if he mock'd himself, and fcorn'd his fpirit
That could be mov'd to fmile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's cafe,
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves;
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,
Than what I fear; for always I am Cæfar.
Spirit of Liberty.
I know where I will wear this dagger then;
Caffius from bondage will deliver Caffius:
Therein, ye Gods, you make the weak molt (trong,
Which bufy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'ft fo found.
Portia's Speech to Brutus.
Stole from my bed and yefternight, at fupper,
You have ungently, Brutus,
You fuddenly arofe and walk'd about,
Mufing, and fighing, with your arms across:
And, when I aik'd you what the matter was,
You ftar'd upon me with ungentle looks:
I urg'd you further; then you fcratch'd your head,
And too impatiently ftamp'd with your foot:
Yet I infifted, yet you answer'd not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave fign for me to leave you: fo I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which feem'd too much inkindled; and, withal,
Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
Which fometimes hath his hour with ev'ry man.
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