And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings : How some have been deposed, some slain in war: Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed: Some poison'd by their wives; some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd:-for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court: and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchise, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit,As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want taste grief, Need friends: subjected thus, The name of king? O' God's name, let it go. I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: For on my heart they tread now whilst I live; And, buried once, why not upon my head? As in a theatre, the eyes of men, THIS royal throne of kings, this scepter isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, Which serves it in the office of a wall, HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. King Henry IV. BUT, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, After a well-graced actor leaves the Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly stage, dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?! Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee reap'd, Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home; He was perfumed like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff:-and still he smil'd and talk'd; And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. To be so pester'd with a popinjay, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark), And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; So cowardly; and but for these vile guns, Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-eyed musing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 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, And all the currents of a heady fight. And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream; And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain thei 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. www LADY PERCY'S SPEECH TO HER HUSBAND. O, MY good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I, this fortnight, been KING HENRY IV. TO PRINCE HAD I so lavish of my presence been, men, So stale and cheap to vulgar company; Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Others would say, "Where ?-which is Such as is bent on sun-like majesty, When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: But rather drows'd, and hung their eyelids down, Slept in his face and render'd such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries : Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full. And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, PRINCE HENRY'S DEFENCE OF And dress'd myself in such humility, That I did pluck allegiance from men's To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push Of every beardless vain comparative : More than a little, is by much too much. As, sick and blunted with community, HIMSELF. GOD forgive them, that have so much sway'd Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you that I am your son; When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, That this same child of honour and re nown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet : For every honour sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes; and on my head My shames redoubled! for the time will come That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. And I will call him to so strict account, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here: The which, if He be pleas'd I shall perform, PRINCE HENRY'S SPEECH ON When that this body did contain a spirit, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. I should not make so dear a show of zeal : But let my favours hide thy mangled face; And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself For doing these fair rites of tenderness. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven: Thy ignomy sleep with thee in thy grave, But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! HENRY'S SOLILOQUY ON How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep!—O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd 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? In cradle of the rude imperious surge. With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy |