Imatges de pÓgina

And nothing can we call our own but death:
And that small model of the barren earth,

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heav'n's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of Kings;
How some have been depos'd; some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghost they dispossess'd;
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 antick sits
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

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To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks
Infusing him with self and vain conceit
As if this flesh which walls about our life 9
Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores thro' his castle walls, and farewel King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn rev'rence : trow away respect,
Tradition, form, aud ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live on bread like you, feel want like you:
Taste grief, need friends, like you subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a King?



Hotspur and Glendower.

Glen.SIT, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotse


For by that name, as oft as Lancaster

Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale! and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heav'n.

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glen. I blame him not: at my nativity The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes,

Of burning cressets; know that at my birth
The frame of the foundation of the earth
Shook like a coward.

Hot. So it would have done

At the same season if your mother's cat

Had kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. Glen. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.

Hot. I say, the earth then was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.

Glen. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heav'ns on fire !

And not in fear of your nativity.

Diseased nature often times breaks forth
In strange eruptions; and the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex'd,
By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb, which, for enlargement striv


Shakes the olb beldame earth, and topples down High tow'rs and moss-grown steeples. At your birth,

Our grandam earth with this distemperature
In passion shook.

Glen. Cousin, of many men

I do not bear these crossings: give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clam'rous in the frighted fields:
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipt in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Wales, or

Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,


Or hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh.

Glen. I can speak English, Lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well. And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart;

I'd rather be a kitten, and cry mew;
Than one of these same metre ballad mongers!
I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree,
And that would nothing set my teeth on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
"Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.

Glen. And I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man :
But will they come when you do call for them?
Glen. Why, I can teach thee to command the


Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil

By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil.--If thou hast pow'r to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn I've pow'r to shame him hence. Oh, while you live, Tell truth and shame the




Hotspur reading a letter. Bur for mine own part, my Lord,



"could be well contented to be there in res"pect of the love I bear your house." He could be contended to be there; why is he not then? "In respect of the love he bears our house! He shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why, that is certain: it is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle danger we pluck this flower safely. "The purpose you


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undertake is dangerous, the friends you have "named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, "and your whole plot too light for the counter

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poise of so great an opposition." Say you so! say you so! I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid, our friends true and constant a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue this is? Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his Lady's fan. Are there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides the Lord Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month? and are there not some of them set forward already?

329 What a Pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and. go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared, I will set forward to-night.



Henry IV's Soliloquy on Sleep. How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness!

Why rather, Sleep, lay'st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull God, why lay'st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case to a common laurum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast 2
Seal up the spip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry shrouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes:
Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot

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