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SOLILOQUY OF HENRY IV.

O SLEEP, O gentle sleep, A watch-case or a common 'larum bell? Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast thee,

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids

brains down,

In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And steep my senses in forgetfulness? And in the visitation of the winds, Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky Who take the ruffian billows by the top, cribs,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hangUpon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

ing them And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy With deafening clamours in the slippery slumber,

shrouds, Than in the perfumed chambers of the That, with the hurly, Death itself awakes ? great,

Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose Under the canopies of costly state,

To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody? | And in the calmest and the stillest night, O thou dull god! why liest thou with the With all appliances and means to boot, vile,

Deny it to a king? Then happy, lowly In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly clown! couch

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN.

ALL the world's a stage, Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, And all the men and women merely players: the justice; They have their exits and their entrances; In fair round belly, with good capon lined, And one man in his time plays many parts, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, His acts being seven ages. At first, the Full of wise saws, and modern instances, infant,

And so he plays his part: The sixth age Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; shifts And then, the whining school-boy, with Into the lean and slippered pantaloon; his satchel,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on And shining morning face, creeping like side; snail

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too Unwillingly to school : And then, the wide lover;

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad voice, Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a Turning again toward childish treble, pipes soldier;

And whistles in his sound: Last scene Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

That ends this strange eventful history, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; quarrel,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everySeeking the bubble reputation

thing.

SHAKSPEARE.

of all,

THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a while repair,
And dwell, a weeping hermit, there.

COLLINS

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O my

[King John invades France, to chastise Philip for

Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of espousing the cause of Prince Arthur, the rightful

words;—. heir to the English throne. In a battle before Angiers, Arthur is taken prisoner-Hubert, cham. Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, berlain to King John, is appointed Arthur's keeper, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : with instructions to find some means of depriving | But, ah, I will not :-Yet I love thee well; the young Prince of life.]

And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me SCENE. -King John's tent before Angiers.

well.

Hub. So well, that what you bid me K. John. Come hither, Hubert.

undertake, gentle Hubert,

Though that my death were adjunct to my We owe thee much; .

act, Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,

By heaven, I'd do't. But I will fit it with some better time.

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst? By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine To say what good respect I have of thee.

eye Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause

friend, to say so yet;

He is a very serpent in my way; But thou shalt have: and creep time ne'er And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth so slow,

tread, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.

He lies before me: Dost thou understand I had a thing to say,-- But let it go :

me? The sun is in the heaven, and the proud Thou art his keeper. day,

Hub.

And I will keep him so, Attended with the pleasures of the world, That he shall not offend your majesty, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,

K. John. Death. To give me audience :-If the midnight bell

Hub.

My lord ? Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,

K. John. Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;

Hub.

He shall not live. If this same were churchyard where we

K. John.

Enough. stand,

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee. And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee: Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,

Remember. .... Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick;

[Constance, mother to Prince Arthur, is overwhelmed (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the with grief at the capture of her son.]

veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's

SCENE. --The French King's tent. eyes

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, sorrow. A passion hateful to my purposes;)

Const. Thou art not holy, to belie me so; Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine; Hear me without thine ears, and make reply My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost :

A grave.

with me,

I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! O, if I could, what grief should I forget!

(Exit. Preach some philosophy to make me mad.... K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow If I were mad, I should forget my son:

her.

[Exit. I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity.

(Arthur, having been sent to England, is imprisoned K. Phi. Bind up those tresses,

in Northampton Castle. (Historically, this is not

true. Arthur was first sent to Falaise, then to Sticking together in calamity:

Rouen; but Shakspeare's arrangement of the play Bind up your hairs. requires the scene to be laid in England.)] Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore

SCENE. —A Room in Northampton Castle. will I do it? I tore them from their bonds; and cried

Enter HUBERT, and two Attendants. aloud,

Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look 'O that these hands could so redeem my

thou stand son,

Within the arras: when I strike my foot As they have given these hairs their liberty!" | Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, But now I envy at their liberty,

And bind the boy, which you shall find And will again commit them to their bonds, Because my poor child is a prisoner. --

Fust to the chair: be heedful : hence, and And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,

watch. That we shall see and know our friends in 1st Attend. I hope your warrant will bear heaven:

out the deed. If that be true, I shall see my boy again; Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you : For, since the birth of Cain, the first male

look to't.

[Exeunt Attendants. child,

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with To him that did but yesterday suspire,

you.

Enter ARTHUR. There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. And chase the native beauty from his cheek, Hub. Good morrow, little prince. And he will look as hollow as a ghost; Arth. As little prince (having so great a As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;

title And so he'll die; and, rising so again, To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. When I shall meet him in the court of Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. heaven

Arth.

Mercy on me! I shall not know him: therefore never, never Methinks, nobody should be sad but I: Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, grief.

Only for wantonness. By my christendom, Const. He talks to me, that never had a So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,

I should be as merry as the day is long; K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your And so I would be here, but that I doubt child.

My uncle practises more harm to me: Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent He is afraid of me, and I of him : child,

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, I were your son, so you would love me, Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

Hubert. Stuffs out his vacant garments with his Hub. (Aside.) If I talk to him, with his form;

innocent prate Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. I could give better comfort than you do. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look I will not keep this form upon my head,

pale to-day : [Tearing off her head-dress In sooth, I would you were a little sick, When there is such disorder in my wit. That I might sit all night and watch with O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! you:

son.

men.

eyes ?

I warrant, I love you more than you do me. I would not have believed no tongue, but Hub. [Aside.) His words do take posses

Hubert's. sion of my bosom.

Hub. Come forth.

(Stamps. Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper. (Aside.) How now, foolish rheum!

Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, dc. Turning dispiteous torture out of door! Do as I bid you do. I must be brief, lest resolution drop

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish

eyes are out, tears.

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind Must you with hot irons burn out both mine him here.

Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterHub. Young boy, I must.

ous-rough? Arth.

And will you? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. Hub.

And I will For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be Arth. Have you the heart? When your bound! head did but ache,

Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men I knit my handkerchief about your brows, away, (The best I had, a princess wrought it for And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; me),

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, And I did never ask it you again;

Nor look upon the iron angrily: And with my hand at midnight held your Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive head;

you, And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Whatever torment you do put me to. Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies him. your grief?

1st Attend. I am best pleased to be from Or, What good love may I perform for you? such a deed. (Exeunt Attendants. Many a poor man's son would have lain still, Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; friend! But you at your sick service had a prince. He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : Nay, you may think my love was crafty Let him come back, that his compassion love,

may And call it cunning : Do, an if you will : Give life to yours. If Heaven be pleased that you must use me Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. ill,

Arth. Is there no remedy? Why, then you must.--Will you put out Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. mine eyes?

Arth. O heaven! that there were but a These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,

mote in yours, So much as frown on you?

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Hub.

I have sworn to do it; Any annoyance in that precious sense! And with hot irons must I burn them out. Then, feeling what small things are boisArth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would t'rous there, do it!

Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold Approaching near these eyes, would drink

your tongue. my tears,

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace And quench his fiery indignation,

of tongues Even in the matter of mine innocence: Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Hubert! Are you more stubborn-hard than ham. Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, mered iron?

So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine An if an angel should have come to me,

eyes; And told me, Hubert should put out mine Though to no use but still to look on you! eyes,

Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,

thine eyes

And would not harm me!

That mercy which fierce fire and iron exHub.

I can heat it, boy. tends, Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. with grief,

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes: See else yourself; For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : There is no malice in this burning coal; Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit With this same very iron to burn them out. out,

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. this while
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, You were disguised.
boy.

Hub.
Peace: no more.

Adieu. Arth. And if you do, you will but make Your uncle must not know but you are dead : it blush,

I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And glow with shame of your proceedings, And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and Hubert:

secure, Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes; That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, Will not offend thee. Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on, Arth. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. All things, that you should use to do me Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with

wrong, Deny their office : only you do lack Much danger do I undergo for thee.

[Excunt.

me.

PART II.

fKing John, alarmed at the disaffection of his nobles | Three days before : but this from rumour's and people, repents of his conduct towards Prince

tongue Arthur, and accuses Hubert with tempting him to accede to the murder.]

I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. SCENE.---A Room of State in the Palace.

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful

occasion ! Enter a Messenger.

0, make a league with me, till I have pleased K. John. A fearful eye thou hast ; | My discontented peers! (Exit Messenger. Where is that blood

My mother dead! That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?

Enter HUBERT. So foul a sky clears not without a storm : Pour down thy weather: How goes all in Hub. My lord, they say five moons were France?

seen to-night; Mess. From France to England. --Never Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about such a power

The other four, in wondrous motion. For any foreign preparation

K. John. Five moons? Was levied in the body of a land!

Hub. Old men and beldams, in the streets, The copy of your speed is learned by them; Do prophesy upon it dangerously: For when you should be told they do pre- Young Arthur's death is common in their pare,

mouths: The tidings come that they are all arrived. And when they talk of him, they shake K. John. 0, where hath our intelligence their heads, been drunk?

And whisper one another in the ear; Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's care,

wrist; That such an army could be drawn in Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, France,

With wrinkled brows, with nods, with And she not hear of it?

rolling eyes. Hess.

My liege, her ear I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. s stopped with dust; the first of April died The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, Your noble mother: And, as I hear, my lord, With open mouth swallowing a tailor's The Lady Constance in a frenzy died

news;

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