England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. GRIEF. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which show like grief itself, but are not so: For sorrow's eye, glaz'd with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives,* which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry, Distinguish form. HOPE DECEITFUL. I will despair, and be at enmity Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, PROGNOSTICS OF WAR. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change: Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap. ACT III APOSTROPHE TO ENGLAND. As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense: But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way: *Pictures. Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, SUN RISING AFTER A DARK NIGHT. Know'st thou not, That when the searching eye of heaven is hid VANITY OF POWER AND MISERY OF KINGS. 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 bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: And yet not so,-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 heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings:How some have been depos'd, some slain in war;' Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'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, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king' How can you say to me—I am a king? ACT V. MELANCHOLY STORIES. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire And ere thou bid good night, to quitt their grief, And send the hearers weeping to their beds PUBLIC ENTRY. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling. broke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling broke! You would have thought the very windows spake, Through casements darted their desiring eyes With painted imag'ry,‡ had said at once, * Passed. † Be even with them Tapestry hung from the windows. Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes '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. VIOLETS. 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 * Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,— That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, * Carelessly turned. + His own body Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd KING HENRY IV. PART I. ACT I. PEACE AFTER CIVIL WAR. SO shaken as we are, so wan with care, Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, The fury of discord |