The Tragedy of King Richard II

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Macmillan, 1890 - 192 pages

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Page 48 - 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 God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings...
Page 48 - Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : 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, need friends : subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king ? Carlisle.
Page 20 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Page 24 - This earth of Majesty this seat 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 silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Page 45 - Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord.
Page 44 - 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 detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves...
Page 74 - God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home ; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head, Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Page 23 - And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last ; For violent fires soon burn out themselves...
Page 48 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king!
Page 24 - For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son : This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land...

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