Pro.

from eaves of reeds: your charm so strongly works
them,

that if you now beheld them, your affections
would become tender.

Dost thou think so, spirit?

Ari. Mine would, Sir, were I human.

Pro.

And mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
of their afflictions? and shall not myself,

one of their kind, that relish all as sharply
passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the
quick,

yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury

do I take part: the rarer action is

in virtue than in vengeance.

W. SHAKESPEARE

932

DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT IN A CAMP

FROM camp to camp, through the foul womb of

night,

the hum of either army stilly sounds,

that the fix'd sentinels almost receive

the secret whispers of each other's watch:
fire answers fire: and through their paly flames
each battle sees the other's umber'd face:
steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
the armourers, accomplishing the knights,
with busy hammers closing rivets up,

give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
and the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
the confident and over-lusty French

do the low-rated English play at dice;
and chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

933 so tediously away. The poor condemned English, like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

sit patiently, and inly ruminate

the morning's danger; and their gestures sad,
investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,

presenteth them unto the gazing moon

so many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold the royal captain of this ruin’d band,

walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
let him cry-Praise and glory on his head!
for forth he goes, and visits all his host;
bids them good morrow, with a modest smile;
and calls them-brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note,

how dread an army hath enrounded him;
nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
unto the weary and all-watched night:
but freshly looks, and overbears attaint
with cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
that every wretch, pining and pale before,
beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
a largeness universal, like the sun,

his liberal eye doth give to every one,
thawing cold fear.

W. SHAKESPEARE

934

LOSS OF POWER LOSS OF HOMAGE

Ach.

WHAT

ACHILLES-PATROCLUS

HAT mean these fellows? Know they not
Achilles?

Pa. They pass by strangely: they were us'd to bend,
to send their smiles before them to Achilles;
to come as humbly, as they us'd to creep
to holy altars.

Ach.

What, am I poor of late?

'tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune,
must fall out with men too: what the declin'd is,
he shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
as feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies,
shew not their mealy wings but to the summer;
and not a man, for being simply man,

hath any honour; but honour for those honours
that are without him, as place, riches, favour,
prizes of accident as oft as merit;

which when they fall, as being slippery standers, the love that lean'd on them as slippery too, doth one pluck down another, and together

die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy

at ample point all that I did possess,

save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out something not worth in me such rich beholding as they have often given.

W. SHAKESPEARE

935

I

HENRY V. TO HIS BOON COMPANIONS

KNOW

you all, and will awhile uphold
the unyoked humour of your idleness:
yet herein will I imitate the sun,

who doth permit the base contagious clouds
to smother up his beauty from the world,
that, when he please again to be himself,
being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
by breaking through the foul and ugly mists
of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
to sport would be as tedious as to work;
but, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
and nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
and pay the debt I never promised,
by how much better than my word I am,
by so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
and, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
my reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
shall show more goodly and attract more eyes,
than that which hath no foil to set it off:
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
redeeming time, when men think least I will.

W. SHAKESPEARE

936

THE CORINTHIANS DRINK RUIN TO ATHENS-
THOAS PREDICTS ITS FUTURE GLORY

Th.

RUIN to Athens! who dares echo that?

who first repeats it dies. These limbs are armed with vigour from the gods that watch above their own immortal offspring. Do ye dream because chance lends ye one insulting hour,

that ye can quench the purest flame the gods
have lit from heaven's own fire?

Hyl.

some frenzy shakes him.

Th.

'Tis ecstacy—

No! I call the gods,
who bend attentive from their azure thrones,
to witness to the truth of that which throbs
within me now. 'Tis not a city crown'd
with olive, and enriched with peerless fanes
ye would dishonour, but an opening world
diviner than the soul of man hath yet
been gifted to imagine-truths serene,
made visible in beauty, that shall grow
in everlasting freshness; unapproached
by mortal passion; pure amidst the blood
and dust of conquests; never waxing old;
but on the stream of time, from age to age,
casting bright images of heavenly youth

to make the world less mournful. I behold them!
and ye, frail insects of a day, would quaff
"Ruin to Athens!"

T. N. TALFOURD

937

Pol.

POLYPHONTES-MEROPE

ET us in marriage, King and Queen, unite

no more an exile fed on empty hopes

and to an unsubstantial title heir,

and prince adopted by the will of power,
and future king-before this people's eyes.
Consider him; consider not old hates;
consider, too, this people, who were dear

to their dead king, thy husband--yea, too dear, for that destroyed him. Give them peace; thou canst. Mer. Thou hast forgot, then, who I am who hear, and who thou art who speakest to me? I am Merope, thy murdered master's wifeand thou art Polyphontes, first his friend,

and then...his murderer. These offending tears

that murder draws...this breach that thou would'st

close

was by that murder opened...that one child

(if still, indeed, he lives) whom thou would'st seat

upon a throne not thine to give, is heir

because thou slew'st his brothers with their father...
who can patch union here?-What can there be
but everlasting horror 'twixt us two,

gulfs of estranging blood?

M. ARNOLD

938 THE INVOCATION OF THE ghost of laius BY

Tir.

TIRESIAS

HOOSE the darkest part o' the grove;

Csuch as ghosts at noon-day love.

Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
where the bones of Laius lie;
altars rais'd, of turf or stone,
will th' infernal pow'rs have none.
Answer me, if this be done?

All the Priests. 'Tis done.
Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit?

draw her backward to the pit;
draw the barren heifer back,
barren let her be, and black;
cut the curléd hair that grows
full betwixt her horns and brows;
and turn your faces from the sun.
Answer me, if this be done.

All the Priests. 'Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood-like wine,
to mother Earth and Proserpine:
mingle milk into the stream;

feast the ghosts that love the steam:
snatch a brand from funeral pile;
toss it in to make them boil:

and turn your faces from the sun;
answer me, if all be done?

All the Priests. All is done.

J. DRYDEN

HE operi

E smiled, and, opening out his milk-white palm,
disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,

that smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd
and listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech
came down upon my heart.

'My own Enone,