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To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
MELANCHOLY STORIES. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid *: And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
* Passed. Be even with them.
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent * on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, 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, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ?
A SOLILOQUY IN PRISON. I have been studying how I may compare This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it;-Yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul, the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world t; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,
* Carelessly turned. His own body.
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, .
PEACE AFTER CIVIL WAR. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in stronds * afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys t of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, ; Nor bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
* Strands, banks of the sea. + The fury of discord.
All of one nature of one substance, bred
SON PRINCE HENRY.
PRINCE HENRY'S SOLILOQUY. I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness : Yet herein will I imitate the sun; Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By bow much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes * ;
And, like bright metal on a sullen * ground,
HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FINICAL COURTIER.
But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trinily dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest home; He was perfumed like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box t, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again ;Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff:-and still he smild and talk'd; And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Beswixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me; among the rest demanded My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, To be so pester'd with a popinjay $, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not ;-for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, [mark !) Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that t was great pity, so it was, That villanous salt-petre should be digg'd * Dull. † A small box for musk or other perfumes. ♡ Parrot.