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Be journeying on in this inclement air.
Wrap thy old cloak about thy back;
Nor leave the broad and plain and
beaten road,

Although no flowers smile on the trodden
dust,

For the violet paths of pleasure.
Charles the First
Rose like the equinoctial sun,
By vapours, through whose threatening

ominous veil

Darting his altered influence he has gained

This height of noonmust decline

Amid the darkness of conflicting storms, To dank extinction and to latest night

There goes the apostate Strafford; he For whose titles

- from which he

By vile participation of their honours This With papists, atheists, tyrants, and apostates.

When lawyers mask 'tis time for honest

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whispered aphorisms and foreign overthrow. From Machiavel and Bacon: and, if The remnant of the martyred saints in Judas

Rochefort

Had been as brazen and as bold as he-

As if he trod upon the heads of men :
He looks elate, drunken with blood and
gold;-
Beside him moves the Babylonian

There's old Sir Henry Vane, the Earl of Pembroke,

Lord Essex, and Lord Keeper Coventry, And others who make base their English breed

woman

Invisibly, and with her as with his
shadow,

Mitred adulterer! he is joined in sin,
Which turns Heaven's milk of mercy to

revenge.

Third Citizen (lifting up his eyes). Good Lord! rain it down upon him! . . Amid her ladies walks the papist queen,

As if her nice feet scorned our English earth.

The Canaanitish Jezebel! I would be A dog if I might tear her with my teeth!

men

To strip the vizor from their purposes.
A seasonable time for maskers this!
When Englishmen and Protestants should

sit

dust on their dishonoured heads,

To avert the wrath of him whose scourge is felt

the great sins which have drawn down from Heaven

Have been abandoned by their faithless allies

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Rouse up the astonished air.

First Citizen. I will not think but
that our country's wounds

Of dancing round a pole dressed up with May yet be healed. The king is just

wreaths

and gracious,

The Sabbath with their

And has permitted that most heathenish

custom

On May-day.

A man who thus twice crucifies his God
May well
his brother.-In my

These once cast off—
Second Citizen.

As adders cast

their skins

And by what

And keep their venom, so kings often
change;
Councils and counsellors hang on one
another,

Smiting each Bishop
under the fifth rib.

Hiding the loathsome
Third Citizen. You seem to know Like the base patchwork of a leper's rags.
the vulnerable place
Of these same crocodiles.

The Youth. O, still those dissonant
thoughts!--List how the music
Grows on the enchanted air! And see,
the torches

Second Citizen.
Egyptian bondage, sir.

Restlessly flashing, and the crowd
divided

Like waves before an admiral's prow!
A Marshalsman.
Give place

To the Marshal of the Mask!
A Pursuivant.

Room for

the King!

The Youth. How glorious ! See
those thronging chariots
Rolling, like painted clouds before the
wind,

Behind their solemn steeds how some
are shaped

Like curved shells dyed by the azure

depths

Of Indian seas; some like the new-born
moon;
What thinkest And some like cars in which the Romans
climbed

thou

Of this quaint show of ours, my agèd | (Canopied by Victory's eagle wings out

friend?

spread)

mind, friend,
The root of all this ill is prelacy.
I would cut up the root.
Third Citizen.

means?

Second Citizen.

I learnt it in
Your worm of

Nile Betrays not with its flattering tears like they;

For, when they cannot kill, they whine and weep.

Nor is it half so greedy of men's bodies As they of soul and all; nor does it wallow

In slime as they in simony and lies
And close lusts of the flesh.

A Marshalsman.

Give place, give

Mask

Into the Royal presence.
A Law Student.

place!

You torch-bearers, advance to the great gate,

And then attend the Marshal of the

Though wicked counsels now pervert
his will:

Even now we see the redness of the The Capitolian-See how gloriously
The mettled horses in the torchlight stir
Inflame the night to the eastward, and Their gallant riders, while they check
their pride,

torches

the clarions

comes! And their sounds, floating hither round the pageant,

Gasp to us on the wind's wave. It Like shapes of some diviner element Than English air, and beings nobler than

The envious and admiring multitude.

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Second Citizen. Ay, there they are-
Nobles, and sons of nobles, patentees,
Monopolists, and stewards of this poor
farm,
On whose lean sheep sit the prophetic

crows.

Here is the pomp that strips the houseless orphan,

Here is the pride that breaks the desolate heart.

These are the lilies glorious as Solomon, Who toil not, neither do they spin,unless

It be the webs they catch poor rogues withal.

Here is the surfeit which to them who

earn

The niggard wages of the earth, scarce leaves

At once the sign and the thing signified-
A troop of cripples, beggars, and lean

If they succeeded not to Winter's flaw;
Or day unchanged by night; or joy it-
self

Without the touch of sorrow?
Second Citizen.
A Marshalsman.

outcasts,

Horsed upon stumbling jades, carted
with dung,
Dragged for a day from cellars and low
cabins

And rotten hiding-holes, to point the
moral
Of this presentment, and bring up the

I and thouPlace, give place!

The tithe that will support them till they crawl

When subjects twine such flowers of observance

Back to her cold hard bosom. Here is health

Followed by grim disease, glory by
shame,

With the sharp thorns that deck the
English crown.

A gentle heart enjoys what it confers,
Even as it suffers that which it inflicts,
Though Justice guides the stroke.
And England's sin by England's punish- Accept my hearty thanks.

Waste by lame famine, wealth by squalid want,

ment.

Queen. And, gentlemen, And, as the effect pursues the cause Call your poor Queen your debtor. foregone, Your quaint pageant Lo, giving substance to my words, Rose on me like the figures of past years, behold Treading their still path back to infancy, More beautiful and mild as they draw

nearer

SCENE II.-A CHAMBER IN WHITEHALL. Enter the KING, QUEEN, LAUD, LORD STRAFFORD, LORD COTTINGTON, and other Lords; ARCHY; also ST. JOHN, with some Gentlemen of the Inns of Court.

King. Thanks, gentlemen. I heartily accept

This token of your service: your gay mask

Was performed gallantly. And it shows well

The quiet cradle. I could have almost wept

To think I was in Paris, where these shows

Are well devised-such as I was ere yet My young heart shared a portion of the burthen,

The careful weight, of this great monarchy.

rear

Of painted pomp with misery! There, gentlemen, between the soveThe Youth. 'Tis but reign's pleasure The anti-mask, and serves as discords do And that which it regards, no clamour In sweetest music. Who would love

lifts

May flowers

Its proud interposition.

In Paris ribald censurers dare not move Their poisonous tongues against these sinless sports;

Archy. Ay, and some are now smiling whose tears will make the brine; for the Fool sees-—

And his smile

Strafford. Insolent! You shall have

Warms those who bask in it, as ours your coat turned and be whipped out of would do

the palace for this.

If . . . Take my heart's thanks: add them, gentlemen,

Archy. When all the fools are whipped, and all the Protestant writers,

To those good words which, were he while the knaves are whipping the fools ever since a thief was set to catch a

King of France,

My royal lord would turn to golden thief. If all turncoats were whipped

deeds.

St. John. Madam, the love
Englishmen can make
The lightest favour of their lawful king
Outweigh a despot's.—We humbly take
our leaves,

out of palaces, poor Archy would be of disgraced in good company. Let the knaves whip the fools, and all the fools laugh at it. [Let the] wise and goodly slit each other's noses and ears (having no need of any sense of discernment in

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Enriched by smiles which France can their craft); and the knaves, to marshal them, join in a procession to Bedlam, to entreat the madmen to omit their sublime Platonic contemplations, and manage the state of England. Let all the honest men who lie pinched up at the prisons or the pillories, in custody of the pursuivants of the High-Commission Court, marshal them.

Enter Secretary LYTTELTON, with

These

never buy.

[Exeunt ST. JOHN and the Gentle-
men of the Inns of Court.
King. My Lord Archbishop,
Mark you what spirit sits in St. John's
eyes?

Methinks it is too saucy for this presence.
Archy. Yes, pray your Grace look:
for, like an unsophisticated [eye] sees
everything upside down, you who are
wise will discern the shadow of an
idiot in lawn sleeves and a rochet setting
springes to catch woodcocks in hay.
making time. Poor Archy, whose owl-
eyes are tempered to the error of his
age, and because he is a fool, and by
special ordinance of God forbidden ever
to see himself as he is, sees now in that
deep eye a blindfold devil sitting on the
ball, and weighing words out between
king and subjects. One scale is full of
promises, and the other full of protesta-
tions and then another devil creeps
behind the first out of the dark windings
[of a] pregnant lawyer's brain, and takes
the bandage from the other's eyes, and
throws a sword into the left-hand scale,
for all the world like my Lord Essex's With
there.

papers.
King (looking over the papers).
stiff Scots

His Grace of Canterbury must take order
To force under the Church's yoke.-
You, Wentworth,

Shall be myself in Ireland, and shall add
Your wisdom, gentleness, and energy,
To what in me were wanting.-My
Lord Weston,

Look

that those merchants draw not without loss

Their

bullion from the Tower; and, on the payment Of shipmoney, take fullest compensation For violation of our royal forests, Whose limits, from neglect, have been o'ergrown

cottages and cornfields.

The

uttermost

Strafford. A rod in pickle for the Farthing exact from those who claim Fool's back!

exemption

From knighthood: that which once was Ten minutes in the rain: be it your a reward

penance

Shall thus be made a punishment, that To bring news how the world goes there. subjects [Exit ARCHY. Poor Archy!

May know how majesty can wear at will The rugged mood.-My Lord of Coven- He weaves about himself a world of try,

mirth

Out of the wreck of ours.

Laud. I take with patience, as my
Master did,

Lay my command upon the Courts below That bail be not accepted for the prisoners

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My Lord of Canterbury.
Archy.
The fool is here.
Laud. I crave permission of your

Majesty

To order that this insolent fellow be
Chastised: he mocks the sacred char-
acter,

Scoffs at the state, and-
King.
What, my Archy?
He mocks and mimics all he sees and

All scoffs permitted from above.
King.

Primate of England. With your Grace's leave,

He lives in his own world; and, like a parrot

Hung in his gilded prison from the window

Pray overlook these papers.
words

Of a queen's bower over the public way,
Blasphemes with a bird's mind:- his
words, like arrows
Which know no aim beyond the archer's
wit,
Strike sometimes what eludes philo-
sophy.-
(To ARCHY). Go, sirrah, and repent of
your offence

My lord,
Archy's

Had wings, but these have talons.
Queen.
And the lion
That wears them must be tamed.
My
dearest lord,

I see the new-born courage in your eye Armed to strike dead the spirit of the time,

Do thou persist: for, faint but in resolve, And it were better thou hadst still remained

The slave of thine own slaves, who tear
like curs

The fugitive, and flee from the pursuer;
And Opportunity, that empty wolf,

hears,

Yet with a quaint and graceful license- Flies at his throat who falls. Subdue

thy actions

Which spurs to rage the many-headed beast.

Prithee

For this once do not as Prynne would, Even to the disposition of thy purpose, were he And be that tempered as the Ebro's steel;

And banish weak-eyed Mercy to the weak,

Whence she will greet thee with a gift of peace,

And not betray thee with a traitor's kiss, As when she keeps the company of rebels,

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