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England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
with inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds:
that England, that was wont to conquer others,
hath made shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
how happy then were my ensuing death!

W. SHAKESPEARE

IOIO THE TENDENCY OF MANY MEANS TO ONE END

THER
'HEREFORE doth heaven divide

the state of man in divers functions,
setting endeavour in continual motion;
to which is fixéd, as an aim or butt,
obedience: for so work the honey-bees;
creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
the act of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of sorts:
where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
others, like merchants, venture trade abroad;
others, like soldiers, arméd in their stings,
make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
which pillage they with merry march bring home
to the tent-royal of their emperor:
who, busied in his majesty, surveys
the singing masons building roofs of gold;
the civil citizens kneading up the honey;
the poor mechanic porters crowding in
their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
the sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum,
delivering o’er to executors pale
the lazy yawning drone. I this infer,-
that many things, having full reference
to one concent, may work contrariously;
as many arrows, loosed several ways,
fly to one mark;
as many several ways meet in one town;
as many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;
as many lines close in the dial's centre;
so many a thousand actions, once afoot,

end in one purpose, and be all well borne
without defeat.

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SHI

HE-WOLF of France, but worse than wolves of

France, whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! how ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, to triumph, like an Amazonian trull, upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ! But that thy face is, visard-like, unchanging, made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: to tell thee whence thou cam’st, of whom deriv'd, were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not

shameless. Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? it needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud; but, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; the contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : 'tis government, that makes them seem divine; the want thereof makes thee abominable: thou art as opposite to every good as the Antipodes are unto us, or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide! how could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, to bid the father wipe his eyes withal, and yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; thou stern, obdurate, finty, rough, remorseless.

W. SHAKESPEARE

1012 PISANDER HOLDLVG A PARLEY WITH THE CHIEFS

OF SYRACUSE AT THE HEAD OF THE INSURGENTS

BRIEFLY thus, then,

since I must speak for all.—Your tyranny drew us from our obedience. Happy those times when lords were styled fathers of families, and not imperious masters! when they number'd their servants almost equal with their sons, or one degree beneath them! when their labours were cherished and rewarded, and a period set to their sufferings; when they did not press their duties or their wills, beyond the power and strength of their performance; all things orderd with such decorum, as wise law-makers, from each well-govern’d private house derived the perfect model of a commonwealth. Humanity then lodged in the hearts of men, and thankful masters carefully provided for creatures wanting reason.

The noble horse, that in his fiery youth from his wide nostrils neighed courage to his rider and brake through groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord safe to triumphant victory, old or wounded, was set at liberty and freed from service. The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew marble, hewed for the temples of the gods, the great work ended, were dismissed and fed at the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel, appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave; since pride stepped in and riot, and o’erturned this goodly frame of concord, teaching masters to glory in the abuse of such as are brought under their command; who, grown unuseful, are less esteemed than beasts.

P. MASSINGER

IPHIGENIA

1013

I

MUST obey him, for I see my friends

beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate doth with increasing anguish move my heart. May I no longer feed the silent hope

and keep their impious turbans on, without
good morrow to the sun.—Hail, thou fair heaven!
we house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly

as prouder livers do. Gui.

Hail, heaven! Arv.

Hail, heaven!
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: up to yond hill,

your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
when you above perceive me like a crow,
that it is place which lessens and sets off:
and you may then revolve what tales I have told you
of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
this service is not service, so being done,
but being so allowed: to apprehend thus,
draws us a profit from all things we see:
and often, to our comfort, shall we find
the sharded beetle in a safer hold
than is the full-wing'd eagle. O! this life
is nobler than attending for a check;
richer than doing nothing for a bauble;
prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,

yet keeps his book uncrossed: no life to ours. 1002 Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg’d,

have never wing'd from view o’ the nest, nor know not
what air's from home. Haply this life is blest,
if quiet life be best; sweeter to you
that have a sharper known; well corresponding
with your stiff age; but unto us it is

a cell of ignorance. Arv.

What should we speak of,
when we are old as you? when we shall hear
the rain and wind beat dark December, how,
in this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
the freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
we are beastly; subtle as the fox for prey;
our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
we make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,

and sing our bondage freely. Bel.

How you speak!
did you but know the city's usuries,
and felt them knowingly: the art of the court,
as hard to leave as keep: the toil o' the war,
a pain that only seems to seek out danger

i' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the

search; and hath as oft a slanderous epitaph as record of fair act; nay, many times, doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, must courtsey at the censure:--O boys, this story the world may read in me: Cymbeline loved me; and when a soldier was the theme, my name was not far off: then was I as a tree, whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,

and left me bare to weather. Gui.

Uncertain favour! 1003 Bel. My fault being nothing,—as I have told you oft,

but that two villains, whose false oaths prevaild
before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans: so,
follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
this rock and these demesnes have been my world:
where I have liv'd at honest freedorn; paid
more pious debts to heaven than in all
the fore-end of my time.--But up to the mountains;
this is not hunters' language :-he that strikes
the venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
to him the other two shall minister;
and we will fear no poison, which attends
in place of greater state. I'll meet you i’ the valleys.
- How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to the king;
nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine ; and, though train’d up

thus meanly
i’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
the roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
in simple and low things, to prince it much
beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
the heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
the king his father calld Guiderius, - Jove !
when on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
the warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
into my story: say,

Thus mine enemy fell,
and thus I set my foot on's neck,” even then
the princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,

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