« السابقةمتابعة »
Revolt our subjects ? That we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us.
Cry woe, destruction, roin, loss, decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unfeasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Boling broke, cov’ring your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel,
White beards have arm’d their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy Majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms, against thy crown.
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yéw, against thy ftatè :
Yea, diftaff-women manage rusty bills.
Against thy feat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell’ít a tale fo ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bufhy? Where is Green?
No matter where ; of comfort no man speak.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bofam of the earth!
Let’s chuse executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death :
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heav'n's sake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad stories of the death of Kings;
How some have been depos’d, some slain in war ;
Some haunted by the ghost they dispossess’d ;
Some poison’d by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd. For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a King,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks :
Infusing him with self and yain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable ; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle walls, and farewel King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn rev’rence ; throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live on bread like you, feel want like you ;
Taste grief, need friends, like you: subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a King ?
CH A P. 'XIV. HOTSPUR AND GLENDO WER.
Glen. CIT, cousin, Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur;
W For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale ! and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heav'n.
Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glen. I blame him not : at my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cresfets : know that, at my birth,
The frame and the foundation of the earth
Shook like a coward.
Hot. So it would have done
At the same season if your mother's cat
Had kitten’d, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Gren. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. I say, the earth then was not of my mind;
If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook.
Glen. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heav'ns on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions; and the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colick pinch’d and vex’d,
By the inprisoning of unruly wind i
Within her womb; which for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
High tow'rs and moss-grown steeples. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, with this distemperature,
In passion shook.
Glen. Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these croflings : give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes ;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clam'rous in the frighted fields:
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do shew,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipt in with the sea,
That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland,
Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
Or hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welch.
Glen. I can speak English, Lord, as well as you, For I was train’d up in the English court : Where, being young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart, I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew! Than one of these fame metre-ballad mongers ! I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn’d, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree, And that would nothing set my teeth on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag, Bb 3
Glen. And I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man :' But will they come when you do call for them? Glen, Why, I can teach thee to command the devil.
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil.
If thou hast pow'r to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be fworn, I've pow'r to shame him hence. Ob, while you live, Tell truth and frame the devil.
“ B UT for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well
D contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear “ your house.” He could be contented to be there ; why is he not then ? " In respect of the love be bears our house!" He News in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me fee some more. “ The purpose you une dertake is dangerous.” Why, that is certain : it is danger. ous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nertle danger, we pluck this flower fafety. " The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the “ friends you have named uncertain, the time itfelf unfort“ ed, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoife of « so great an opposition.” Say you fo, fay you fo? I say unto you again, you are a shallow.cowardly hind, and you hie. What a lack-brain is this? By the Lord, our plot isa good plot as ever was laid'; our friends true and constant : a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-fpirited rogưe