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The noife was high. Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall fhe come in? wer't good?
I think the stirs again :-no.-What's the beft?
If the come in, fhe'll fure fpeak to my wife :-
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O infupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it fhould be now a huge eclipse
Of fun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

His Love for her.

Had he been true,

If heaven would make me fuch another world,
Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

His bitter Remorse.

Behold! I have a weapon:

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a foldier's thigh: I've feen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good (word,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your ftop.-But, Ovain boaft,
Who can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.

Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd.
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very fea-mark of my utmoft fail.
Do you go back difmay'd? 'tis a loft fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breaft,
And he retires: where fhould Othello go?
Now-how doft thou look now? O ill-ftarr'd

wench!

Pale as thy fmock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heaven,
And fiends will fnatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
E'n like thy chastity.-

O curfed, curfed flave !-Whip me, ye devils,
From the poffeffion of this heavenly fight!
Blow me about in winds! roaft me in fulphur!
Wafh me in fteep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona! Defdemona ! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

His laft Speech.

Soft you; a word or two before you go. [it;
I have done the state some service, and they know
No more of that.-I pray you, in your letters,
When you fhall thefe unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am: nothing extenuate,
Nor fet down aught in malice: then muft you
speak

Of one that lov'd not wifely, but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whofe hand,
Like the bafe Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whofe fubdued

eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as faft as the Arabian trees
Their medicinable gum. Set you down this:
And fay, befides, that in Aleppo oвce,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And fmote him-chus.

[Stabs himself.

31. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. SHAKSPEARE.

Reputation.

THE pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is fpotlefs reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
Corwardice.

That which in mean men we intitle patie
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts.

Banifoment, Confolation under it.
All places that the eye of Heaven vifits,
Are to a wife man ports and happy havers:
Teach thy neceffity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like neceffity.
Think not the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
And not the king exil'd thee:-Or fuppoft,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it
Suppofe the finging-birds muficians; [com't:
To lie that way thou go'ft, not whence thou
The grafs whereon thou tread ft, the prefence
ftrew'd;

The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no mort
Than a delightful measure or a dance:
For gnarling forrow hath lefs power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Thoughts ineffectual to moderate Afliction
O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucasts?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantastic fummer's heat?
O, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worfe
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.
Popularity.

Obferv'd his courtship to the common people;
Ourfel, and Bufhy, Bagot here, and Green,

How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtefy;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of fmily
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
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 draymen bid-God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee :
With "Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
As were our England in reverfion his, [friends;"
And he our fubjects' next degree in hope.

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This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defenfive to a house,
Against the envy of leis happier lands,

England, bound in with the triumphant fea,
Whofe rocky fhore beats back the envious fiege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with fhame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Grief.

Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which thew like grief itself, but are not fo:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perfpectives, which rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; eyed awry,
Diftinguish form.—

Hope deceitful.

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The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed ftars of heaven; be pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth; And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change: ich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap.

Richard to England, on his Arrival,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their

backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ?

On the Vanity of Power, and Mijery of Kings.

No matter where; of comfort no man fpeak;
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth.
Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what, can we bequeath,
Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's,
And that fmall model of the barren earth,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
Which ferves as paste and covering to our bones
For heaven's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad ftories of the death of kings:
How fome have been depos'd, some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghofts they have depos'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives; fome fleepingkill'd;
All murder'd :—For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court: and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his ftate, and grinning at his pomp ;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit;
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable: and humour'd thus,
Comes at the laft, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle walls, and, farewell king!
Cover your 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 with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,

How can you fay to me-I am a king?

Melancholy Stories.

As a long-parted mother with her child [ing; lays fondly with her tears, and fimiles in meet-Need friends: fubjected thus, o weeping, (miling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. eed not thy fovereign's foe, my gentle earth, tor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous fenfe : ut let thy fpiders that fuck up thy venom, nd heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; eing annoyance to the treacherous feet Thich with ufurping fteps do trample thee. jeld ftinging nettles to mine enemies: nd when they from thy bofom pluck a flow'r, uard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; hofe double tongue may with a mortal touch hrow death upon thy fovereign's enemies. lock not my fenfeless conjuration, lords; his earth shall have a feeling, and thefe ftones rove armed foldiers, ere her native king hall falter under foul rebellious arms.

In winter's tedious nights, fit by the fire, With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid:

The Sun rifing after a dark Night.

-- Know'st thou not, That, when the fearching eye of heaven is hid lehind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unfeen, murders, and in outrage, bloody here; But when from under this terrestrial ball de fires the proud tops of the eaftern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, [grief,
And fend the hearers weeping to their beds.
A Defcription of Bolingbroke's and Richard's Entry

broke !

into London.

Then, as I faid, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his afpiring rider feem'd to know→→→
With flow, but ftately pace, kept on his course;
While all tongues cried, God fave thee, Baling-
[pake,
You would have thought the very windows
So many greedy looks of young and old
Thro' cafements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his vifage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagʼry, had said at once,
Jefu preferve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilft he, from one fide to the other turning
Bare-headed, lower than his proud fteed's neck,
Befpoke them thus-I thank you, countrymen :
And thus ftill doing, thus he pafs'd along.

Duch.

Duck. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he Grim-vifag'd war hath (mooth'd his wrinkled

the while?

York. As in a theatre the eyes of men, After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: [eyes Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's Did fcowl onRichard;no man cried, God fave him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But duft was thrown upon his facred head; Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off, His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles, The badges of his grief and patience- [fteel'd That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, The hearts of men, they muft perforce have And barbarism itself have pitied him, [melted, Violets.

Who are the violets now

That strew the green lap of the new-come fpring?

King Richard's Soliloquy in Prifon.

I have been studying how I may compare
This prifon, where I live, unto the world;
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my foul;
My foul, the father; and these two beget
A generation of ftill-breeding thoughts,
And thefe fame thoughts people this little world;
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented-

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themfelves
That they are not the first of fortune's flaves,
Nor fhall not be the laft; like filly beggars,
Who, fitting in the ftocks, refuge their fhame
That many have, and others must fit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own inisfortune on the back
Of fuch as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one prifon, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I a king;
Then treafon makes me with myself a beggar;
And fo I am: then crushing penury
Perfuades me I was better than when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by and by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And ftraight am nothing.-But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing.

34. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD III. SHAKSPEARE.

Richard, on his own Deformity. ow are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

Now

Our bruifed arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings: Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

front;

And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the fouls of fearful adverfaries-
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lafcivious pleafing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for fportive tricks,
Nor made to court an am'rous looking-gift;
I, that am rudely ftamp'd, and want lovei ma-
To ftrut before a wanton, ambling nymph; [j];
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by diffembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, fent before my time
Into this breathing world, fearce half made up,
And that fo lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
Why I, in this meek piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my fhadow in the fun,
And defcant on my own deformity:
And therefore-fince I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair, well-fpoken days→→
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Richard's Love for Lady Anne.

Thofe eyes of thine from mine have dam
falt tears,

Sham'd their afpects with ftore of childish dreps
Not, when my father York and Edward we
Thefe eyes, which never shed remorseful tea-
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford fhook his fwad
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, [2
Told the fad ftory of my father's death;
And twenty times made paufe, to sob, and weep,
Like trees bedafh'd with rain: in that fad ti
That all the ftanders-by had wet their check.
My manly eyes did fcorn an humble tear;
And what thefe forrows could not thence n
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind
I never fued to friend, nor enemy; [weep
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, we
My tongue could never learn fweet foo
My proud heart fues, and prompts my tong
to speak.

On his own Perfon, after bis fuccessful Addr"]

My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I de miftake my perfon all this while; Upon my life, the finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man, I'll be at charges for a looking-glass; And entertain a score or two of taylors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, 1 will maintain it with fome little coft.

Queen Margaret's Execration

The worm of confcience ftill begnaw thy f. ↑ Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends No fleep clofe up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be when fome tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

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Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that waft feal'd in thy nativity
The flave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou flander of thy heavy mother's womb!
Thou loathed iffue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour, thou detefted-
High Birth.

I was born fo high,

Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,

A fhadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he fhriek'd out aloud— "Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Cla

rence

"That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
"Seize on him, furies, take him to your tor-

ments!"

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Inviron'd me, and howled in mine ears

And dallies with the wind, and fcorns the fun. Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,

Richard's Hypocrify.

But then I figh, and, with a piece of fcripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends, ftolen forth of holy writ,
And feem a faint, when most I play the devil.
Clarence's Dream.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray
you tell me.
[Tower,
Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,
And, in my company, my brother Glo'fter;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward
England,

And cited up a thoufand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Ling,

I trembling wak'd; and, for a feafon after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you3
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done those things
That now give evidence again my foul,
For Edward's fake; and fee how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appeale thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
[dren!
O fpare my guiltless wife, and my poor chil-
Sorrow.

Sorrow breaks feasons and repofing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.
Greatness, its Cares.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares:
Methought that Glo'fter ftumbled; and, in fall-So that, between their titles and low name,
Struck me, that thought to ftay him, overboard, There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! Duchess of York on the Misfortunes of her Family.
Accurfed and unquiet wrangling days!
How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
My husband loft his life to get the crown,
And often up and down my fons were tofs'd,
And being feated, and domeftic broils
For me to joy and weep their gain and lofs:

What dreadful noife of water in my ears!
What fights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I faw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels,
All fcatter'd in the bottom of the fea,
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in thofe
[holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in fcorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the flimy bottom of the deep,
[by.
And mock'd the dead hones that lay fcatter'd
Brak. Had you fuch leifure in the time of
To gaze upon thefe fecrets of the deep? [death,
Clar. Methought I had; and often did I ftrive
To yield the ghoft; but fill the envious flood
Kept in my foul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air;
But fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burft to belch it in the fea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony?
Clar. O no, my dream was lengthen'd after
then began the tempeft to my foul! [life;
pals'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
ith that grim ferryman which poets write of,
to the kingdom of perpetual night.
The firt that there did greet my ftranger fout,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud-"What fcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford falfe Clarence?"
And fo he vanish'd, Then came wand'ring by

Clean overblown, themselves, the conquerors,
Blood to blood, felf against felf:-O prepofterous
Make war upon themfelves; brother to brother,
And frantic outrage! end thy damned spleen;
Or let me die to look on death no more.
Deceit.

And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!
Ah! that deceit should steal fuch gentle shapes,

Submiffion to Heaven, our Duty.

In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrate With dull unwillingness to pay a debt, [ful, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more, to be thus oppofite with Heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

The Vanity of Trust in Man.

O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken failor on a maft;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep,
Contemplation.

When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So fweet is zealous contemplation.
Defcription

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The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch-deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did fuborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compaffion,
Wept like two children,in their death's sad story.

Hope.

True hope is fwift, and flies with fwallow's wings; [kings. Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures A fine Evening.

The weary fun hath made a golden fet; And, by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. Day-break.

The filent hours steal on,

Richmond's Prayer.

"O thus," quoth Dighton, "lay the gentle babes!" And flaky darkness breaks within the caft. "Thus, thus," quoth Forreft," girdling one ano"Within their alabafter innocent arms; [ther "Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, [other. "Which in their fummer beauty, kifs'd each "A book of prayers on their pillow lay; [mind; "Which once, "quoth Forreft,"almoftchang'd my "But, O the devil:"-there the villain ftopp'd. When Dighton thus told on-" We smothered "The most replenished sweet work of nature, "That, from the prime creation,e'er the fram'd." Hence both are gone with confcience and remorfe: They could not fpeak; and fo I left them both To bear thefe tidings to the bloody king.

Expedition.

Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay ;
Delay leads impotent and fnail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

Queen Margaret's Exprobration.

I call'd thee then, poor fhadow, painted queen;
One heav'd ahigh to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ;
A dream of what thou waft; a garish flag,
To be the aim of ev'ry dang'rous fhot;
A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jeft, only to fill the scene. [thers?
Where is thy husband now? where be thy bro-
Where be thy two fons? wherein doft thou joy?
Who fues, and kneels, and fays, God fave the

queen ?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee what now thou art.
For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being fued to, one that humbly fues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that fcorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the courfe of juftice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time:
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.

His Mother's Character of King Richard.
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy fchool-days frightful, defp rate, wild, and

O thou! whole captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
Put in their hands thy bruifing irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
Th' ufurping helmets of our adverfaries!
Make us thy minifters of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory!
To thee I do commend my watchful foul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes;
Sleeping, and waking, O defend me still!

Richard farting out of bis Dream.

Give me another horfe-bind up my wounds:
Have mercy, Jefu !-Soft, I did but dream.
O coward confcience, how doft thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue-is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling fleft,
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by.
Confcience.

Confcience is but a word that cowards uf,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.
Richard before the Battle.

A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.
Advance our standards, fet upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George,
Infpire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! victory fits on our helms.

Alarum. Enter King Richard.
K. Richard. A horfe! a horfe! my kingdom

for a horfe!

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Love is a fmoke rais'd with the fume of fighs;

Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears; What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,

A choaking gall, and a preferving fweet.

On Dreams.

furious; [turous; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven- O then, I fee, queen Mab hath been with you. Thy age confirm'd,proud, fubtle,fly,and bloody. She is the fairies' midwife, and the comes

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