Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say,—it hath been all-in-all his study:
List* his discourse of war,


you shall hear A fearful battle render'd


in music:
Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, 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 honeyed sentences.

THE COMMONWEALTH OE BEES. So work the honey bees; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a pecpled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sortst: Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot


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 masons building roofs of gold; The civilt 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.

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Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air ; And hides a sword, from hilt unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.


O England!—model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he* fills With treacherous crowns.


O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: Seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: Come they of noble family?

* i. e. The king of France.



Why, so didst thou: Seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou: Or are they spare in diet;
Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger;
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood;
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement*;
Not working with the eye, without the ear,
And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither?
Such, and so finely boltedt, didst thou seem:
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
To mark the full fraught man, and best indued I,
With sorne suspicion.

'A made a finer end, and went away, and it had been any christom child; ’a parted even just between twelve andone, e'en at turning o'the tide; for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, Sir John? quoth I: what, man! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out—God, God, God! three or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I

put my

hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. KING HENRY'S CHARACTER BY THE CONSTABLE OF

FRANCE. You are too much mistaken in this king; Question your grace the late ambassadors, * Accomplishment + Sifted. $ Endowed. § A child not more than a month old.

With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception", and, withal,
How terrible in constant resolution -
And you shall find his vanities forespentt
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring, and be most delicate.




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.



From camp to camp, through the foul womb of The hum of either army stilly sounds,


, * In making objections. Wasted, exhausted. Gently, lowly.

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch:
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd* face:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lustyt French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger: and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. 7, now, who will behold,
The royal captain of this ruin'd band,
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry—Praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes, and visits all his host;
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile;
And calls them-brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note,
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint,

* Discoloured by the gleam of the fires. + Over-saucy.

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