Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, ADDISON. The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. ORLANDO AND ADAM. Orlan. WHO's there? Adam. What! my young master? O my gentle master, O my sweet master, O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 10 Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely 15 Orlan. Why, what's the matter ? Adam. O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors; within this roof Your brother (no, no brother; yet the son- And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you I overheard him, and his practices. off; This is no place, this house is but a butchery : Orlan. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? 30 Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orlan. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food; Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 35 I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, 40 Which I did store, to be my foster nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 45 All this I give you. Let me be your servant: Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; with you; In all your business and necessities. 50 55 60 Orlan. O good old man; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Ev'n with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: But come thy ways, we'll go along together; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. 65 Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, 70 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty: : From seventeen years till now almost fourscore But at fourscore it is too late a week: 75 SHAKSPEARE. HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 5 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds; and leavest the kingly couch, Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 10 15 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 20 SHAKSPEARE. 25 WOLSEY. FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 5 10 15 More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 20 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. SHAKSPEARE. ODE TO TRUTH. I. 1. SAY, will no white-robed Son of Light, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand; |