HENRY IV. PART II. ACT 3. Sc. 1.
O SLEEP, O gentle Sleep,
nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, Sleep, ly'st thou in smoky 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,
REX HENRICUS SOMNUM ALLOQUITUR.
Ὦ ΦΙΛΟΝ Ὕπνου θέλγητρον, ὃς βροτῶν δέμας
μαλακῶς ἀτάλλεις, πῶς ποτ ̓ ἐκφοβῶν σ ̓ ἐμῆς
εὐνῆς ἀπήλασ ̓; οὐ γὰρ ἡδέως ἔτι
βλέφαρα βαρύνεις, οὐδ ̓, ἀναψύχων πόνου,
τέγγεις φρένας μοι νηδύμῳ λήθῃ κακῶν.
τί σ ̓, ἐν στέγαισι πολυκάπνοισι κείμενον,
νυχίᾳ, βοῶντες ὀξὺ, κοιμίζουσ ̓ ἐπὶ
κώνωπες, ἐν δὲ στιβάσιν ἀστρωτοῖς πεσὼν,
φιλεῖς καθεύδειν μᾶλλον, ἢ ὂν θυώδεσι
θαλάμοις τυράννων, πολυτελῶν σκηνῶν ὕπο,
θελγομένος ὕμνων ὄμμαθ ̓ ἡδίστῳ μέλει ;
φεῦ! σκαιὸν λέγω σε θεὸν, ὃς αὐχμωδοῦς ἔχει
στρωμνῆς πενήτων, τὸν δὲ βασιλικὸν λέχος
ἔχοντ ̓, ἄϋπνον ἐκλέλοιπας, ὡς ὅταν
κώδων ̓ ἐν ἄστει πάννυχος τηρῇ· φύλαξ
τί δ ̓; οὐκ ἐφ ̓ ὑψηλῷ τε καὶ δυσεμβάτῳ
ἱστῷ, πέδησας βλέφαρα παιδὶ ναυβάτῃ,
ὥς τ ̓ ἐν λίκνῳ, κνώσσοντ ̓ ἐδίνησας, βρέφος,
αὐτῇ κλύδωνος ἁλμυροῦ τρικυμία;
καὶ ταῦθ ̓, ὅτ ̓ ἄνεμος, ἀγρίᾳ μιχθεὶς ἁλὶ,
σε Ως φαμένα, δίκασε σάκος μέγα τοὺς δ ̓ ἔλαβ ̓ ὕπνος.”
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
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 most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king?
HENRY VIII. ACT 3. Sc. 2.
CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell!
And-when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of-say, I taught thee-
Say, Wolsey-that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour-
κυρτῶν λαβών που κυμάτων πελωρίας
ἐπῆρε κορυφὰς, ἐν δ ̓ ὑγραῖσιν αἰθέρος
νεφέλαισιν ἐστήριξε, φρικῶδες βρέμων,
ὥστ ̓ αὐτὸν Αΐδην ἐξεγείρεσθαι κτύπῳ;
οὔκουν πέφυκας ἄδικος, ὃς σὰ δῶρ ̓, Ὕπνε,
τοίαδ ̓ ἐν ὥρᾳ, διαβρόχῳ ναύτῃ νέμεις,
ἄνακτι δ ̓, ὅσπερ ξύμμαχον τὴν νύκτ ̓ ἔχει,
σιγήν τε, χώ,τι κῶμ ̓ ἄγειν κατ ̓ ὀμμάτων
φιλεῖ μάλιστα, ταὐτὰ δωρεῖσθαι φθονεῖς;
VOLSEUS CROMUELLO.
ΚΡΟΜΥΕΛΛ ̓, ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ ἔφην ἀπ ̓ ὀμμάτων
δάκρυα βαλεῖν ποτ', οὐδ ̓ ἐν ἐσχάτῳ κακοῦ·
τὸ σὸν δ ̓ ἀληθές μ', οἵ τε γενναῖοι λόγοι,
νίκησαν, ὥστε πρὸς γυναικεῖον τρέπειν.
νῦν οὖν τὰ δάκρυ ̓ ἐξομόρξωμεν· σὺ δὲ,
Κρομύελλε φίλτατ', ἐς τόσονδ ̓ ἄκουέ μου·
ὅταν δὲ λήθης, ὥστε τεύξομαι, τύχω,
κρυφθῶ δ ̓ ἐν ὑγροῖς ἠδ ̓ ἀναισθήτοις λίθοις,
ἵν ̓ οὐ λόγος τις, οὐδ ̓ ἐμοῦ μνήμη ποτὲ
ἔσται τολοιπὸν δή τότ ̓ ἐν φίλοις λόγους
τοίουσδε λέξεις· Ταῦτ ̓ ἐμοὶ παρῄνεσε
Βολσεῖος, αὐτὸς πολυπλάνου τιμῆς ποτὲ
ὁδοὺς ἐπελθὼν, τό, τε κλέους δυσχείμερον
κῦμ ̓ ἐκπεράσας, κἀξερευνήσας μυχούς
ν. 28. θελγομένων ἄξει κῶμα κατὰ βλεφάρων. Plato, apud Brunck. Anthol. tom. i. p. 171.
ν. 8. ὑγρὰν χέρα pro frigida. Eur. Phœn. 1453.
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