Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.
Let me not hold my tongue : let me not, Hubert.
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes. Oh! spare mine eyes;
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo! by my troth! the instrument is cold,
Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used
In undeserv'd extremes. See else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,
And, like a dog that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master, that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office; only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extend,
Creatures of note for mercy lacking uses.
Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arth. Oh! now you look like Hubert! All this while You were disguis'd.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead!
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
Oh! heaven. I thank you, Hubert!
Go closely in with me.
Hub. Silence! no more.
Much danger do I undergo for thee.
6.-DEATH OF KING HENRY IV.
SHAKSPEARE.
Prince Henry. I never thought to hear you speak again. K. Henry. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought; I stay too long by thee-I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours
Before thy hour be ripe? Oh! foolish youth
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou'st stolen that which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and, at my death,
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:
Thy life did manifest thou lov❜dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
P. Henry. Oh! pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, The moist impediments unto my speech,
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally,
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more
Than as your honour, and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise
(Which my most true and inward duteous spirit
Calleth), this prostrate and exterior bending.
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
Oh! let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were),
I spake unto this crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: "The care on thee depending,
Hath fed upon the body of my father:
Therefore thou, best of gold, art worst of gold;
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
Preserving life in medicine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
Hast eat thy bearer up." Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it-as with an enemy
That had before my face murder'd my father
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
swell my thoughts to any strain of pride,
y rebel or vain spirit of mine
with the least affection of a welcome,
entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head,
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
King Henry. Oh! my son,
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
I met this crown; and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head.
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
Wounding supposèd peace. All these bold fears,
Thou seest, with peril I have answered:
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
Changes the mode: for what in me was purchas'd,
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort,
So thou the garland wear'st successively.
Yet though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green,
And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out,
By whose fell working I was first advanced,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd: which to avoid
I cut them off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, oh! God, forgive!
And grant it may with thee in true peace live.
Prince Henry. My gracious liege,
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be,
Which I with more than with a common pain
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
7.-CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS.
SHAKSPEARE.
[See p. 314.]
Cor. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks, perceive
You disapprove my conduct.
Auf. I mean not to assail thee with the clamour
Of loud reproaches, and the war of words:
But, pride apart, and all that can pervert
The light of steady reason, here to make
A candid, fair proposal.
Cor. Speak; I hear thee.
Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have perform'd
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected!
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish;
Thy wounded pride is heal'd, thy dear revenge
Completely sated; and, to crown thy fortune,
At the same time, thy peace with Rome restored.
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman;
Return, return; thy duty calls upon thee
Still to protect the city thou hast saved:
It still may be in danger from our arms:
Retire; I will take care thou may'st with safety.
Cor. With safety!-Heavens !—and think'st thou Coriolanus
Will stoop to thee for safety?—No! my safeguard
Is in myself, a bosom void of fear.
Oh, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness,
To seize the very time, my hands are fetter'd
By the strong chain of former obligations,
The safe, sure moment to insult me.-Gods!
Were I now free, as on that day I was,
When at Corioli I tamed thy pride,
This had not been.
Auf. Thou speak'st the truth: it had not.
Oh, for that time again! propitious gods,
If you will bless me, grant it! Know for that,
For that dear purpose, I have now proposed
Thou should'st return; I pray thee, Marcius, do it:
And we shall meet again on nobler terms.
Cor. Till I have cleared my honour in
your council,
And proved before them all, to thy confusion,
The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy,
As quit the station they've assign'd me here.
Auf. Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Volscians.
Cor. I do :-nay, more, expect their approbation,
Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace
As thou durst never ask; a perfect union
Of their whole nation with Imperial Rome,
In all her privileges, all her rights;
By the just gods, I will-What would'st thou more?
Auf. What would I more, proud Roman! This I would—
Fire the cursed forest, where these Roman wolves
Haunt and infest their nobler neighbours round them;
Extirpate from the bosom of this land
A false, perfidious people, who, beneath
The mask of freedom are a combination
Against the liberty of human kind,-
The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.
Cor. The seed of gods!-'Tis not for thee, vain boaster'Tis not for such as thou-so often spared
By her victorious sword, to speak of Rome,
But with respect, and awful veneration.—
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions,
There is more virtue in one single year
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals
Can boast through all their creeping dark duration.
Auf. I thank thy rage:-This full displays the traitor.
Cor. Traitor !-How now?
Auf. Ah, traitor, Marcius.
Cor. Marcius!
Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stolen name
Coriolanus, in Corioli ?
You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,-
I say, your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whined and roared away your victory,
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering at each other.
Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars?
Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears.
Cor. Measureless liar! thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it.-Boy!
Cut me to pieces, Volscians; men and lads,
Stain all your edges on me.—Boy !—
you have writ your annals true, 'tis there
That like an eagle in a dovecot, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli!
Alone I did it :-Boy!-But let us part;
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed
My cooler thought forbids.
The worst thy sword can do; while thou from me
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