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Teach thy necessity to reason thus :
There is no virtue liké necessity,
And think not, that the king did banish thee;
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the king exil'd thee. Or fuppofe,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lye that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'ft:
Suppofe the finging-birds, muficians;
The grass, whereon thou tread'st, the presence-floor ;
The flow'rs, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance.
For gnarling forrow hath less pow'r to bite
The man, that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Thoughts, ineffectual to moderate Affliction.
Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetité;:
By bare imagination of a feaft?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
Oh, no, the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse ;.
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle inore
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore,
SCENE VIL Popularity . Ourself, and Busby Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people;
All places are our country, where we're well ;
Which to the wise, is wherefoe’er: dwell.
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves ;
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune :
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench:
A brace of dray-men bid, God speed him well!
And had the tribute of his supple knee:
With,- Thanks my countrymen, my loving friends.
As were our England in reverfion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd ifle,
This earth of majesty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi Paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the filver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or of a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shores beats back the envious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
SCENE V. Grief.
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shew like grief itself, but are not so:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects ;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz’d upon,
Shew nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry,
SCENE VI. Hope, deceitful.
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper-back of death ;
Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falle hopes linger in extremity.
SCENE XI. The Prognostics of War. The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth ; And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change : Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap.
Richard to England, on his Arrival.
As a long-parted mother (3) with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and similes in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my entle earth,
(3) With, &c.] The sonse seems evidently to require from.
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav’nous sense;
But let thy spiders which suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way ;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinking nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bofom pluck a flow'r,
Guard it, I prythee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ;
This earth shall have a feeling ; and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king.
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.
The Sun rising after a dark Night.
-Know'st thou not, That when the searching eye of heav'n is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world; Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage bloody here : But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole ; Then murders, treasons, and deteited lins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
Scene IV. On the Vanity of Power, and Misery
No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth!
Let's chuse executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heav'n's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad stories of the death of kings.
How some have been depos'd, some Nain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they dilpoffefs’d;
Some poison'd by their wives; fome sleeping kill'd :
All murther’d.For within the hollow crown (4),
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps death his court: and there the antic fits,
Scofling his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with looks ::
Infufing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this fleth which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable: and humour'd thus,
Comes at the lait, and with a little pin,
Bores through his castle walls, and farewel king !
heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn rev’rence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live on bread like you ; feel want like you;
Taite grief, w:int friends like you: subjected thus,
How can you lay to me, I am a king ?
(4) For, &c.] So in PBilofter, the king says:
Alas, what are we kings?
Why do you, gods, place us above the rest,
To be serv'd, Aatter'd, and ador'd, till we
Believe we hold within our hands your thunder :
And when we come to try the pow'r we have,
There's not a leaf ibakes at our threatnings!