The spinsters, corders, fullers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among them.

Shaks. Henry VIII.
There have been commissions

Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the
heart

Of all their loyalties:- wherein, although,
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on
Of these exactions, yet the king, our master,
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil) even he
escapes not:

Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.

Shaks. Henry VIII.

O turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's
bosom,

Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign

gore;

Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.

Now, neighbour-confines, purge you of your scum
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall give him office, honour, might.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.
Their weapons only

Scem'd on our side: But for their spirits and
souls,

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part II. But now the bishop

These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches,
To face the garment of rebellion, that may please
the eye

Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurly-burly innovation.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Shaks. Richard III.

O, pity, God, this miserable age!
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III
Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be so bold in terms,

Shaks. Henry VI. Part I. Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form:
Harry the Fifth is crown'd.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.

Shaks. Henry VI. Part 111

Now let it work: mischief, thou art a fool,
Take thou what course thou wilt!

Shaks. Julius Casa

440

I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears:
I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
Then why should they love Edward more than me?
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.
Were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony,
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Why headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.
Shaks. Comedy of Errors.

Take but degree away, untune that string,
And hark what discord follows! each thing meets
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe:
Strength should be lord of imbecility,

And the rude son should strike his father dead:
Force should be right.

He spake and to confirm his words, out flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze
Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd
Against the High'st, and fierce with grasped arms
Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
The happier state
In heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the thund'rer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain?

What peace will be given

Milton's Paradise Lost,

To us enslav'd, but custody severe,
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return,
But to our power, hostility, and hate,
Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though slow,
Yet ever plotting how the conq'ror least
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice
In doing what we most in suffering feel?

Milton's Paradise Lost,

In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk,
Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk:

Shaks. Troilus and Cressida. Factious, and favouring this or t' other side,
As their strong fancy or weak reason guide.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite,

Yet famine,

Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breed cowards; hardness ever
Of hardness is mother.

Shaks. Cymbeline.
Want made them murmur; for the people who,
To get their bread, do wrestle with their fate,
Or those who in superfluous riot flow,
Soonest rebel: convulsions in a state,
Like those which nat'ral bodies do oppress,
Rise from repletion, or from emptiness.

Aleyn's Henry VII.

Let them call it mischief;

When it's past, and prosper'd, 't will be virtue.

Jonson's Catiline.

But of this be sure,

To do aught good will never be our task,

But ever to do ill our sole delight,

As being the contrary to his will,
Whom we resist.

Great discontents there are, and many murmurs;
The doors are all shut up: the wealthier sort,
With arms across, and hats upon their eyes,
Walk to and fro before their silent shops;
Whole droves of lenders crowd the bankers' doors,
To call in money: those who have none, mark
Where money goes; for when they rise-'tis
plunder.
Dryden's Spanish Friar.

That talking knave
Consumes his time in speeches to the rabble,
And sows sedition up and down the city
Picking up discontented fools, belying
The senators and government; destroying
Faith among honest men, and praising knaves.
Otway's Caius Marius.

And since the rabble now is ours,

Keep the fools hot, preach dangers in their ears

Milton's Paradise Lost. Spread false reports o' th' senate; working up

Rumour next, and chance,

And tumult and confusion all embroil'd,

And discord with a thousand various mouths,

Milton's Paradise Lost.

Their madness to a fury quick and desp'rate:
Till they run headlong into civil discords,
And do our bus'ness with their own destruction.
Otway's Caius Marius

At last will fall sick of imitating Job.

Byron.

"Hoist out the boat!" was now the leading cry;
And who dare answer "no" to mutiny,
In the first dawning of the drunken hour,
The saturnalia of unhoped-for power?

RECIPROCITY.

RECONCILIATION.-(See REPENT
ANCE.)

REFINEMENT.-(See PURITY.)

REFLECTION.-(See CONTEMPLATION.)

REFORMATION.

By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
Byron. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part L
Formless themselves, reforming do pretend;
As if confusion could disorder mend.

Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss,

Milton's Paradise Lost.

Tatham's Distracted State.