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If! thou protector of this damned strumpet,
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart,
This is all as true as it is strange :
If circumstances lead me, I will find
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time
Have wandered with our travers'd arms, and breath'd Our sufferance vainly.
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world,
He hath no friends, but who are friends for fear;
Both more and less have given him the revolt;
I cannot tell, what you and other men
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
Then live to be the shew and gaze o' the time;
may you see the tyrant.
Why should Cæsar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know, he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
I'll not call you tyrant;
But this most cruel usage of your queen
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something savours
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name.
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
For how can tyrants safely govern home,
Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Are daily given, to ennoble those
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.
Plague of your policy!
You sent me deputy for Ireland;
Far from his succour, from the king, from all
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
O, such a day
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Thus far our fortune keeps an onward course,
Now the time is come,
Which is the villain?
Let me see his eyes:
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him.
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous! Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody.
Thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,
How far that little candle throws his beams!
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do; Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not.
Forgive me this my virtue:
For, in the fatness of these pursy times,
I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now.
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
Thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,