ACT V. SCENE III.

The Duke of Warwick's dying Speech.

Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me, who is victor, York or Warwick? Why afk I that? My mangled body shews,

My blood, my want of ftrength, my fick heart fhews,
That I muft yield my body to the earth,

And, by my fall, the conqueft to my foe.
(9) Thus yields the cedar to the ax's edge,
Whofe arms gave shelter to the princely eagle;
Under whose shade the ramping lion flept;

(9) Thus yields, &c.] For this grand and noble fimile, Shakefpear is plainly indebted there, where, for the first time thro' this work, am obliged, and gladly, to acknowledge him outdone. 'Tis from the 31ft chapter of the prophet Ezekiel, ver. 3. "Behold the Affyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches, and with a fhadowing fhroud, and of an high ftature, and his top was among the thick boughs. 4. The waters made him great, the deep fet him up on high with her rivers running round about his plants, and fent out her little rivers unto all the trees of the field. 5. Therefore his height was exalted above all the trees of the field, and his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long, because of the multitude of waters, when he shot forth. 6. All the fowls of heaven made their nefts in his boughs, and under his branches did all the beafts of the field bring forth their young, and under his fhadow dwelt all great nations. 7. Thus was he fair in his greatness, in the length of his branches: for his root was by great waters. 8. The cedars in the garden of God could not hide him: the fir-trees were not like his boughs, and the chefnut-trees were not like his branches; not any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in his beauty. &c. 12. And Atrangers, the terrible of the nations have cut him off, and have left him upon the mountains, and in all the valleys his branches are fallen, and his boughs are broken by all the rivers of the land, and all the people of the earth are gone down from his fhadow, and have left him, 13. Upon his ruin fhall all the fowls of the heaven remain, and all the beafts of the field fhall be upon his branches. &c. See the chapter.

The fcriptures, and more efpecially the prophets, abound with many fimilar paffages, fublime and exalted as this, which it would be endless to produce here.

D 4

Whof

Whose top-branch over peer'd Jove's spreading tree;

And kept low fhrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
Thefe eyes, that now are dim'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,

To fearch the fecret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to kingly fepulchres:

For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durft smile, when Warwick bent his brow
Lo! now my glory fmear'd in duft and blood,
(10) My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forfake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.

SCENE VII. Omens on the Birth of Richard III. (11) The owl fhriek'd at thy birth, an evil fign. The night crow cry'd, a boding luckless tune;

(10) My parks, &c.] "I won't venture to affirm, fays Mr. Theobald, our author is imitating Horace here: but furely this paffage is very much of a caft with that which I am about to quote.'

Linquenda tellus, et Domus, et placens
Uxor: neque barum quas colis, arborum
Te præter invifas cupreffos,

Ulla brevem Dominum fequetur.

Thy fpacious fields, thy fplendid house,
Thy pleafing wife muft thou forego,
Nor of thofe trees, thy hands have rais'd,
Except the baleful cyprefs boughs,

Shall one attend their fhort-liv'd lord below.

B. 2. ode 143

Dryden has beautifully copied the laft line, in his Antony and Cleopatra, where he makes the defponding hero, throwing him❤ felf on the ground, thus lament..

Lie there, the shadow of an emperor,

The place thou preffeft on thy mother earth

Is all thy empire now.--

A. I..

(11) The owl, &c.] See an account of the prodigies on the

birth of Glendower, p.6. n. 6.

Dogs

Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempefts fhook down trees;
The raven croak'd hoarfe on the chimney's top,
And chattering pyes in difmal discords sung :
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

And yet brought forth lefs than a mother's hope,
To wit, an indigested, deform'd lump,

Not like the fruit of fuch a goodly tree.

Teeth hadft thou in thy mouth when thou waft born,
To fignify, thou cam'ft to bite the world:

And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'ft into the world with thy legs forward.

The Life of HENRY VIII.

A C T I. SCENE II..

ANG E R.

--To climb steep hills

Requires flow pace at firft. Anger is

like

A full-hot horfe, who, being allow'd his way,

Self-mettle tires him.

SCENE IV. Action to be carried on with Re-

folution.

If I'm traduc'd by tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor perfon; yet will be

The chronicles of my doing: let me say,

"Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue muft go through: we must not stint: Our neceffary actions, in the fear,.

Το

cope

malicious cenfurers: which ever, As rav'nous fishes, do a veffel follow

That is new trimm'd: but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do beft,..
By fick interpreters, or weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd: what worst, as oft
Hitting a groffer quality, is cry'd up
For our best act: if we ftand still, in fear,
Our motion will be mock'd or carped at,
We should take root here, where we fit; or fit
State-ftatues only.

SCENE

SCENE VI. New Customs.

New customs,

Though they be never fo ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

ACT II. SCENE II.

The Duke of Buckingham's Prayer for the King.
May he live

Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be!
And when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness, and he fill up one monument!

Dependants not to be too much trusted by great Men.

This from a dying man receive as certain ;
Where you are lib'ral of your loves and counfels,`
Beware you be not loofe; thofe you make friends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away

Like water from ye, never found again,
But where they mean to fink

ye.

SCENE III. A good Wife.

A lofs of her,

That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his Neck, yet never loft her luftre;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence,
That angels love good men with; even of her,
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will blefs the king.

SCENE