Imatges de pÓgina

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold; if there's a power above us,
(And that there is all Nature cries aloud,
Through all her works) he must delight in virtue ;
And that which he delights in must be happy.


But when! or where! this world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end 'em.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.


NAY, do not think I flatter;

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits

To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,

Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,

And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man, that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are those,
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me the man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core,-ay, in my heart of heart,

As I do thee.



So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted Peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds a-far remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil

Shall damp her lips with her own children's blood:
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces. Those opposed files,
Which like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,

Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master.


My Liege, I did deny no prisoners;
But I remember when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword;
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd,
Shew'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 still he smil'd and talk'd: And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,

He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holiday and lady-terms

He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.

then all starting with my wounds, being gall'd
pester'd with a popinjay,

Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer d neglectingly, I know not what;

He should, or should not; for he made me mad,
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 parmacety for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.



I SAW young Harry with his beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury;
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horsemanship.




I FROM the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth;
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language i pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence,
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other griefs,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures;
And of so easy and so plain a stop,

That the blunt monster, with uncounted heads

The still discordant wavering multitude,

Can play upon it.



-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, ly'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 ly'st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell ?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-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, on 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 the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low! lie down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.


HEAR him but reason in divinity,

And, all admiring, with an inward wish,

You would desire the king were made a prelate,

Hear him debate on common-wealth affairs;

You'd say, it hath been all in all his study.
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in music,
Turn him to any cause of policy,


The gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter. When he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still:

And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honied sentences.



So work the Honey-Bees:

Creatures, that by a ruling nature teach
The art of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king and officers of sort:
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home :
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad:
Others, like soldiers, armed 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 mason, 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.



-SUPPOSE that you have seen

The well-appointed king at Hampton-pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the
young Phoebus fanning,
Play with your fancies; and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing;
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge!

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