Imatges de pÓgina

Why then you must Will you put out mine eyes ?
The eyes that never did, nor never fall,
So much as frown on you,-

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Aas, what need you be fo boist'rous rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heav'n's fake, Hubert, let me not be bound,
Nay hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb.
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angrily :
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to;
Is there no remedy?

Hub. None but to lose your eyes.

Art. O heav'n! that there were but a moth in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any anoyance in that precious sense :
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
SCENE II. To add to Perfection, superfluousys

and suspicious.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lilly,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light
To seek the beauteous eye of heav'n to garnishy
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.



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In this the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured:
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ;, and frights consideration;


Makes found opinion fick, and truth fufpected,
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

Murderer's Look.

This is the man, shou'd do the bloody deed j;
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye: that close aspect of his
Does shew the mood of a much-troubled breast.

Struggling Conscience. The colour of the king doth come and go Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles sent;: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. Scene IV. News-Tellers, on the Death of Arthur,

old men and beldams, in the streets, Do prophecy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths; And, when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear. And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist, Whilft he that hears makes fearful action ; With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith itand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth, swallowing a taylor's news, Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers, which his nimble halte Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent. Another lean, unwash'd artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

Kings evil Purposes too servily and hastily executed..

(8) It is the curse of kings, to be attended
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant,
To break into the bloody house of life :
And, on the winking of authority,
To understand a Law, to know a meaning
Of dang’rous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour, than advis'd respect.

A Villain's Look, and wicked Zeal.

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done ? For hadft not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d,
Qaoted, and fign'd to do a deed of shame,
This murther had not come into


Hadit thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed ;;
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,

(8) It is, &c.] So the king, in A King and no King, observesy,

If there were no such instruments as thou,
We kings could never act such wicked deeds :
Seek out a man that mocks divinity,
That breaks each precept both of God and man,
And nature's too, and does it without luft,
Meerly because it is a law, and good,

And live with him ; for him thou can'st not spoil. And a little before, he speaks of Belus, as the most horrid object, after consenting to his wicked proposal:

But thou appear'st to me after thy grant;
The ugliest, loathed, detestable thing,
That I have met with: thou hast eyes
Like Aames of sulphur, which methinks do dart
Infection on me ; and thou hast a mouth
Enough to take me in, where there does stand
Four rows of iron teeth.----

Act 3. the end.


Or bid me tell my tale in express words;
Deep shame had ftruck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.

Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum.
And he long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocence.

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(9) If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread, That ever spider twisted from her womb, Will strangle thee: a rush will be a beam To hang thee on: or would'st thou drown thy sell, Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up.

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Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That filverly doth progress on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation:
But this effufion of such manly drops,
This show'r, blown up by tempeft of the foul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz’d,

(9) It is, &c.] So in the Winter's Tale, Paulina tells the king his crime is for great, it can never be forgiven, and nothing rsmains for him but to despair. Cee Vol. 1. p. 140.


Than had I seen the vaulty top of heav'n,
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And, with a great heart, heave away this storm..
Commend these waters to those baby-eyes,
That never saw the giant-world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune, other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.







Strike the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our int'reit. *

Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverb'rate all as loud as thine,
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder.

SCENE IX. The Approach of Death, It is too late, the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain, (Which, some suppose, the foul's frail dwelling-house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretel the ending of mortality.

Madness, occafion'd by Poison. (10) Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow-room, It would not out at windows, nor at doors.


(10) Ay, marry, &c.] In the Valentinian of Beaumont and Fletcher, the emperor is brought on the stage, poisoned.---- There he calls out for

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