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face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy: I can add colours to the cameleon ; Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
HENRY VI. ON HIS OWN LENITY.
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears: I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress’d them with great subsidies, Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd.
ACTY. DYING SPEECH OF THE EARL OF WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want ofstrength, my sick heart shows, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading
tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. These eyes,
that now are dimm'd with death's black Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, [veil
, To search the secret treasons of the world: The wrinkles in my brows, now fill’d with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me: and, of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body's length! QUEEN MARGARET'S SPEECH BEFORE THE BATTLE
OF TEWKSBURY. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say, My tears gainsay* ; for every word I speak, Ye see,
I drink the water of mine eyes. (reign, Therefore, no more but this :-Henry, your soveIs prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. You fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords, Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.
OMENS ON THE BIRTH OF RICHARD III.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down The raven rook'dt her on the chimney's top, [trees;
Unsay, deny. + To rook, signified to squat down or lodge on any thing.
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
KING RICHARD III.
ACT I. THE DUKE OF GLOSTER ON HIS OWN DEFORMITY. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures*. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front; And now,-instead of mounting barbedt steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I,--that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass: I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my
time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ;Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, * Dances.
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
GLOSTER'S LOVE FOR LADY ANNE.
of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful* tear,Not, when
father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him: Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death; And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weepI never sued to friend, nor enemy ;
[ing. My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; But now thy beauty is propos’d my fee, [speak. My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to GLOSTER's
'S PRAISES OF HIS OWN PERSON, AFTER HIS
SUCCESSFUL ADDRESSES. My dukedom to a beggarly deniert, I do mistake
all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. * Pitiful.
+ A small French coin
I'll be at charges for a looking glass;
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
of honour! thou detested
I was born so high,