« السابقةمتابعة »
And fay, To-morrow is Saint Crispian : 3
Then will he strip his sleeve, and fhew his fcars.
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,
The feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold-words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster,
Be in their fowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian fhall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered ;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers :
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he e'er fo vile,
This day fall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here ;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.
HENRY VI. WARWICK, AND CARDINAL
JoW fares my Lord ? Speak, Beaufort,
to thy Sovereign. Car. If thou beft Death, I'll give thee England's
treasure, Enough to purchase such another island,
Peace to his soul if Gods good pleasure bel!
Lord Cardinal, if thou thinkist on heaven's blijs.
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no sign! O God.forgive him.
. Publishid as thetet direct, by JJohnson in Pauls Church Yard, Aug.1760.
So wilt thou let me live, and feel no pain.
K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen fo terrible !
WAR. Beaufort, it is thy Sovereign speaks to thee.
CAR. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Dy'd he not in his bed? Where should he die?
Can I make men live whether they will or no?
Oh, torture me no more, I will confess
Alive again? Then fhew me where he is :
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them:
Comb down his hair; look ! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.
Give me some drink, and bid th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
K. HENRY. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh, beat away the busy, meddling fiend,
That lays strong fiege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair.
-Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make fignal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no fign! O God, forgive him.
War. So bad a death argues a monitrous life.
K. Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are finners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, , And let us all to meditation.
AREWEL, a long farewel to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope ; to-mosrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ;
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 thoot ;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
Bat far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye !
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,
and fears than war or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir,
Wou. What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline ? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n indeed.