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ness of the master the author of the servant's damna tion:-But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, per: adventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment,* though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for before breach of the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel: where they feared the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish: Then if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was be sore guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's: but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience; and dy. ing so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparations was gained: and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare.

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it.

THE MISERIES OF ROYALTY. O hard condition! twin-born with greatness Subjected to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect,

* i e. Punishment in their native country.


That private men enjoy?
And what have kings, that privates have not too
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more
Of inortal griels, then do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy coinings-in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is the soul of adoration ?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou ost, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? 0, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it! No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
I am a king, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farcedt title running fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp,
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these thrice gorgeous ceremony
Not all these laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave;
Who, with a body fill’d, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
But, like a lacky, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phæbus, and all night

*“ What is the real worth and intrinsic value of adora. tion?

† Farced is stuffed. The tumid puffy tides with which a king's name is introduced

Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise, and help Hyperion* to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour, to his grave:
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
llad the fore hand and 'vantage of a king.





Yon island's carrions, desperate of their bones, IIl-favour’dly become the morning field: Their ragged curtainst poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully: Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And saintly through a rusty beaver peeps. Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hand: and the poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips; The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmalt bit Lies foul with chew'd grass still and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. KING HENRY'S SPEECH BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AGIX


He that outlives this day, and comes sase home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, And say—to-morrow is Saint Crispian: Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, these wounds I had on Crispian's day Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day: Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words,Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,

+ Colours. # Ring.

The sun.

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.



He smil'd me in the face, raught* me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says,-Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; And so, espous'd to death, with blood he sealed A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me, which I would have stoppid; But I had not so much of man in me, But all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears.


Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached, -
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas
The darnal, hemlock, and rank sumitory,
Doth root upon; while that the coultert rusts,
That should deracinatef such savagery:
The even meail, that erst brought-sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems,
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedgcn,
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness.

* Rcached.
† Ploughshare.
1 To deracinate is to force up the roots,




GLORY. GLORY is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought



Marriage is a matter of more worth Than to be dealt in by attorneyship.

For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,
An age of discord and continual strise?
Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss,
And is a pattern of celestial peace.




A RESOLVED AND AMBITIOUS WOMAN. FOLLOW I must, I cannot go before, While Gloster bears this base and humble mind Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, And smooth my way upon their headless necks: And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in fortune's pageant.

* By the discretional agency of anothor

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