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As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave:
cypress trees! Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks! Their softest touch, as smart as lizard's stings! Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss; And boding screech-owls make the concert full! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell.
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. 0, go not yet!--Even thus two friends condemn'd Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence; A wilderness is populous enough, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world; And where thou art not, desolation.
DYING WITH THE PERSON BELOVED PREFERABLE TO
If I depart from thee, I cannot live: And in thy sight to die, what were it else, But like a pleasant sluniber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, Dying with mother's dug between its lips.
THE DEATH-BED HORRORS OF A GUILTY CONSCIENCE.
Bring me unto my trial when
will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whe’r they will or no? O! torture me no more, I will confess.Alive again? then show me where he is; I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him,He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul! Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
NIGHT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful* day Is crept into the bosom of the sea; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night; Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Kent, in the commentaries Cæsar writ,
LORD SAY'S APOLOGY FOR HIMSELF.
KING HENRY VI.
THE TRANSPORTS OF A CROWN.
Do but think,
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;
THE DUKE OF YORK ON THE GALLANT BEHAVIOUR
OF HIS SONS. 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. 0, 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 him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neatt; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
THE MORNING'S DAWN. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
* Demeaned himself. of Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c. + Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.