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Kent, in the commentaries Cæsar writ,
LORD SAY'S APOLOGY FOR HIMSELF.
my book preferr'd me to the king: And—seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, Unless
you be possess'd with devilish spirits, You cannot but forbear to murder me.
KING HENRY VI.
A HUNGRY LION.
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
THE DUKE OF YORK ON THE GALLANT BEHAVIOUR
OF HIS SONS.
FAVOURITE CHILD. O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
That face of his the hungry cannibals
*i. e. We boggled, made bad, or bungling work of our attempt to rally.
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with
blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more,—than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dipp’dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-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 neatt; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who having pinch'd a few, and made them
cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sunt! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
THE MORNING'S DAWN. 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, nor night.
* Demeaned himself. of Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c.
Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.
THE BLESSINGS OF A SHEPHERDS LIFE. 167
THE BLESSINGS OF A SHEPHERD'S LIFE.
make the hour full complete,
fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah! what a lise were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? 0, yes it doth: a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude,—the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
NO STABILITY IN A MOB.
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
A SIMILE ON AMBITIOUS THOUGHTS.
Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying—he'll lade it dry to have his way.
GLOSTER'S DEFORMITY. Why, love forswore me in my
mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd ?
GLOSTER'S DISSIMULATION. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile; And cry, content, to, that which grieves my heart; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,