Or any other ground inhabitable,
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,―
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
K. RICHARD II., A. 1, s. 1.
THE WARRIOR'S PRAYER.
O THOU! whose captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory!
To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes;
Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still!
K. RICHARD III., A. 5, s. 3.
THE WARRIOR'S PRAYER FOR
HIS SON.
THE god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, those that eye thee!
THE WAY TO ENJOY NATURE IS TO
BECOME SATIATED WITH ART.
Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exíle,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these
woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,—
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
AS YOU LIKE IT, A. 2, s. 1.
Q. MARGARET. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand,
If sorrow can admit society.
Tell o'er your woes again, by viewing mine
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ;
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him :
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou
didst kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. MAR. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and
Richard kill'd him.
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.-
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
DUCH. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. MAR. Bear with me; I am hungry for
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragick play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly conveyed from hence :— Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I
pray, That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
Q. ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would come,
That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. Q. MAR. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune;
I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ;
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering index of a direful pageant,
One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers ?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen ?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd
yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance,―
These English woes shall make me smile in France.
O thou well skill'd in curses, stay
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.
Q. MAR. Forbear to sleep the night, and
fast the day;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
K. RICHARD III., A. 4, s. 4.
THE WIDOW'S REBUKE.
FINDS brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course;
Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
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