940

beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul,

behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n
'for the most fair' would seem to award it thine,
as lovelier than whatever Oread haunt
the knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace

of movement and the charm of married brows.'
He prest the blossom of his lips to mine,
and added 'This was cast upon the board,
when all the full-faced presence of the gods
ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon
rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due:
but light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,
delivering that to me, by common voice
elected umpire, Heré comes to-day,
Pallas and Aphrodité, claiming each
this meed of fairest. Thou within the cave
behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,
mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard
hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods."

A. TENNYSON

ARBACES KING OF IBERIA

HAT will the world

WHAT

conceive of me? with what unnatural sins
will they suppose me laden, when my life
is sought by her that gave it to the world?
But yet he writes me comfort here: my sister,
he says, is grown in beauty and in grace,
in all the innocent virtues that become

a tender spotless maid: she stains her cheeks
with mourning tears, to purge her mother's ill;
and 'mongst that sacred dew she mingles prayers,
her pure oblations, for my safe return.

If I have lost the duty of a son,

if any pomp or vanity of state made me forget my natural offices, nay, farther, if I have not every night expostulated with my wandering thoughts, if ought unto my parent they have err'd, and call'd 'em back; do you direct her arm unto this foul dissembling heart of mine: but if I have been just to her, send out your power to compass me, and hold me safe F. S. III

21

from searching treason; I will use no means
but prayer: for, rather suffer me to see
from mine own veins issue a deadly flood,
than wash my danger off with mother's blood.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

941

OH

EMILIA'S PRAYER TO DIANA

H sacred, shadowy, cold and constant queen,
abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,
sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
as wind-fann'd snow, who to thy female knights
allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
which is their order's robe; I here, thy priest,
am humbled 'fore thine altar! oh, vouchsafe,
with that thy rare green eye, which never yet
beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin!
and, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear,
(which ne'er heard scurril term, into whose port
ne'er enter'd wanton sound,) to my petition,
season'd with holy fear! This is my last
of vestal office; I am bride-habited,

but maiden-hearted; a husband I have 'pointed,
but do not know him; out of two I should
choose one, and pray for his success, but I
am guiltless of election of mine eyes
were I to lose one, (they are equal precious,)

I could doom neither; that which perish'd should
go to't unsentenc'd: therefore, most modest queen,
he, of the two pretenders, that best loves me,

and has the truest title in 't, let him

take off my wheaten garland, or else grant
the file and quality I hold I may

continue in thy band!

942

APOSTROPHE TO SLEEP

KING HENRY IV

J. FLETCHER

SLEEP! O gentle sleep!

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, that thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, and steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

and hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
than in the pérfumed chambers of the great,
under the canopies of costly state,

and lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
in loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
a watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
in cradle of the rude imperious surge;

and in the visitation of the winds,

who take the ruffian billows by the top,

curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
with deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,
that, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
to the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
and, in the calmest and most stillest night,
with all appliances and means to boot,
deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

W. SHAKESPEARE

943 MARULLUS TO THE UNGRATEFUL ROMANS

THEREFORE rejoice? What conquest brings

WHE

he home?

what tributaries follow him to Rome,

to grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
you blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless

things!

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
to towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
your infants in your arms, and there have sat
the live-long day, with patient expectation,
to see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
and when you saw his chariot but appear,
have you not made a universal shout,
that Tyber trembled underneath her banks,

to hear the replication of your sounds,
made in her concave shores?

and do you now put on your best attire?
and do you now cull out a holiday?

and do you now strew flowers in his way,
that comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone!

run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
pray to the gods to intermit the plague
that needs must light on this ingratitude.

W. SHAKESPEARE

944 LADY PERCY'S PATHETIC SPEECH TO HER

HUSBAND

MY good lord, why are you thus alone?

for what offence have I, this fortnight, been

a banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?

Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth;

and start so often when thou sit'st alone?

why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched,
and heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;
speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry, Courage!—to the field! and thou hast talk'd
of sallies and retires; of trenches, tents,
of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;

of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
and all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
and thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
that beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
like bubbles in a late-disturbéd stream:
and in thy face strange motions have appeared,
such as we see when men restrain their breath
on some great sudden haste. O, what portents are
these?

some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

and I must know it, else he loves me not.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

945

946

Aum.

IT

BRUTUS ON JULIUS CÆSAR

T must be by his death: and for my part
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
but for the general. He would be crowned :-
how that might change his nature, there's the
question.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
and that craves wary walking. Crown him?-that,—
and then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
that at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Cæsar,
I have not known when his affections swayed
more than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,
that lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
but when he once attains the upmost round,
he then unto the ladder turns his back,
looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
by which he did ascend: So Cæsar may:

then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
will bear no colour for the thing he is,
fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
would run to these and these extremities:
and therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
which, hatched, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
and kill him in the shell.

W. SHAKESPEARE

DUKE OF AUMERLE-KING RICHARD II

OW brooks your grace the air,

HOW

after late tossing on the breaking seas? K.Ric. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy to stand upon my kingdom once again.— Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: 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,