Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

Omens on the Birth of Richard III. The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; The night-crow cried, a boding luckless tune; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees;

The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discord sung: Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother's To wit-an indigest, deformed lump, [hope; Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. [born, Teeth had'st thou in thy head when thou wast To signify-thou cam'st to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou cam'st "into the world with thy legs forward."

My faculties, nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing-let me say,
"Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue must go through. We must not
Our necessary actions, in the fear [stint
To cope malicious censurers; which ever,
As rav'nous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new-trimm'd; but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
For our best act. If we shall stand still,
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.

A good Wife.

A loss of her, That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre : Of her, that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her, That when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless a king.

The Blessings of a low Station. "Tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content,

Queen Katharine's Speech to her Husband. Alas, Sir,

In what have I offended you? What cause
Hath my behavior given to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven
witness,

I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable :
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, [sorry
Yea, subject to your count'nance; glad or
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your desire, [friends
Or made it not mine too?
Which of your
Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy? What friend of mine,
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice,
He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to
mind

That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years; and have been bless'd

With many children by you. If, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honor aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person, in God's name
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of justice.
Queen Katharine's Speech to Cardinal Wol-

sey.

you,

You tender more your person's honor, than
Your high profession spiritual.

Queen Katharine compared to a Lily. Like the lily, [rish'd, That once was mistress of the field, and flouI'll hang my head, and perish.

Horror, its outward Effects. Some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple: straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts

Firm Allegiance.

Though perils did

nor,

Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty, As doth a rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours.

Anger, its external Effects.

reap'd it ?

He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him; Then makes him nothing.

Falling Greatness.

Nay, then farewell! [greatness; I have touch'd the highest point of all my And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall, Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.

The Vicissitudes of Life.

soms,

So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth!
The terder leaves of hope, to-morrow blos-
[him :|
And bears his blushing honors thick upon
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown
pride
[me,
At length broke under me; and now has left
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire
The sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin, [to,
More pangs and fears than war or women
have,

And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes and thus far hear me,
Cromwell;

And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no men-

tion

[thee;

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear

Cardinal Wolsey's Death.

At last, with easy roads, he came to Leices ter,

[abbot, Lodg'd in the abbey; where the rev'rend With all his convent, honorably receiv'd him; To whom he gave these words: "O father abbot,

An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye:
Give him a little earth for charity!"
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold should be his last), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honors to the world again,
His blessed part to Heaven, and slept in peace.

His Vices and Virtues.

So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak And yet with charity-he was a man [him, Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking Himself with princes: one, that by suggestion Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair play; His own opinion was his law: I' the presence He would say untruths; and be ever double, Both in his words and meaning: He was

never,

And though he were unsatisfied in getting
(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely; ever witness for him,
Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with
him,

Unwilling to out-live the good he did it :
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little.
And, to add greater honors to his age [God.
Than man could give him, he died fearing

Archbishop Cranmer's Prophecy.

Let me speak, Sir, [utter For Heav'n now bids me; and the words I Let none think flattery, for they 'll find them [her!)

truth.

(When Heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness)

Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth,

§ 26. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN. SHAKSPEARE.

A Description of England. THAT pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,

And coops from other lands her islanders ; Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,

That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west,
Salute thee for her king.

Description of an English Army.
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother queen,
An Até stirring him to blood and strife;
With her, her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain
With them, a bastard of the king deceas'd;
And all the unsettled humors of the land-
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens-

Have sold their fortunes at their native homes Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,

To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits,
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance; they are at hand.

Description of Victory, by the French. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne. in; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made [ther,

Much work for tears in many an English moWhose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground;

Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolor'd earth;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Uoon the dancing banners of the French;

Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors.

By the English.

Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;

If this same were a church-yard where we stand,

And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs :

Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
There stuck no plume in any English crest,
That is removed by a staff of France;
Our colors do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd
forth;

And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.

A Woman's Fears.

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting For I am sick, and capable of fears;

veins,

Making that idiot laughter keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purpose);

Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of
words;

Then in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts;
But, ah! I will not.

A Mother's Ravings.

Tokens of Grief.

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? What means that hand upon that breast of thine?

Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Like a proud river peering o'er its bounds? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? Then speak again; not all thy former tale, But this one word, whether thy tale be true. A Mother's Fondness for a beautiful Child. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, were grim,

Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,

I would not care, I would then be content; For then I should not love thee: no, nor thou Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy! Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great :| Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose.

The Horrors of a Conspiracy. I had a thing to say-but let it go: The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gauds, To give me audience. If the midnight-bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,

I am not mad-I would to Heaven I were!
For then 'tis like I should forget myself;
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I should forget my son,
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad: too well, too well I feel
The diff'rent plague of each calamity.
Apostrophe to Death.

O amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy detestable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household
worms;

And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou
smil'st,

And buss thee as thy wife! misery's love,
O, come to me!

A Mother's Grief.

Father Cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:

If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male-
To him that did but yesterday suspire, [child,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,