Though standing naked on a mountain top, PARTING LOVERS. And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. 0, go not yet!-Even thus two friends condemn'd Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Lother a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee! Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: DYING WITH THE PERSON BELOVED PREFERABLE TO PARTING. If I depart from thee, I cannot live: THE DEATH-BED HORRORs of a guilTY CONSCIENce." Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? ACT IV. NIGHT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings KENT. Kent, in the commentaries Cesar writ, LORD SAY'S APOLOGY FOR HIMSELF. Justice with favour have I always done; Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. When have I aught exacted at your hands, Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you? Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, Because my book preferred me to the king; And-seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,— Unless you be possess'd with dev'lish spirits, You cannot but forbear to murder me. KING HENRY VI. PART III. ACT I. THE TRANSPORTS OF A CROWN. Do but think, How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. * Pitiful. A HUNGRY LION. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws: And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. THE DUKE OF YORK ON THE GALLANT BEHAVIOUR My sons-God knows what hath bechanced them: With this, we charg'd again; but out, alas! A FATHER'S PASSION ON THE MURDER OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. O, tyger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; * * * * That face of his the hungry cannibals [blood: Would not have touch'd, would not have stain❜d with But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-O, ten times more,-than tygers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy. i. e. We boggled, made bad, or bungling work of our attempt to rally. And I with tears do wash the blood away. ACT II. THE DUKE OF YORK IN BATTLE. Methought, he bore him* in the thickest troop, As doth a lion in a herd of neat;t Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. MORNING. See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!‡ How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love! THE MORNING'S DAWN. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, or night. THE BLESSINGS OF A SHEPHERD'S LIFE. O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; * Demeaned himself. Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c. Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, she dismisses him to his diurnal course. when So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. ACT III. NO STABILITY IN A MOB. Look, as I blow this feather from my face, A SIMILE ON AMBITIOUS THOUGHTS. Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; And chides the sea that sanders him from thence, Saying-he'll lade it dry to have his way. |