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A HUNGRY LION,
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws: And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.
THE DUKE OF YORK ON THE GALLANT BEHAVIOUR OF
My sons-God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know,—they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown, by life, or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me; And thrice cried,-Courage, father ! fight it out ! And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried-Charge! and give no foot of ground! And cried,
-A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre ! With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas! We bodg'd * again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A FATHER'S PASSION ON THE MURDER OF A FAVOURITE
CHILD. O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
That face of his the hungry cannibals
* i. e. We boggled, made bad, or bungling work of our attempt to rally.
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with
blood : But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, 0, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!
THE DUKE OF YORK IN BATTLE.
Methought, he bore bim* in the thickest troop,
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
THE MORNING'S DAWN,
* Demeaned himself. + Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c.
Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diarnal course.
'Would I were dead !-if God's good will were so; For what is in this world, but grief and woe? O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up
year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times : So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young ; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece; So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet! how lovely!
NO STABILITY IN A MOB. Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men.
A SIMILE ON AMBITIOUS THOUGHTS. Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying-he'll lade it dry to have his way.
GLOSTER'S DEFORMITY. Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
GLOSTER'S DISSIMULATION. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile ; And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy: I can add colours to the cameleon; Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
HENRY VI. ON HIS OWN LENITY.
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,