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After this cold considerance, sentence me;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state,
What I have done that misbecame my state,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.

King Henry. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well;

Therefore still bear the balance and the sword:
And I do wish your honour may increase,
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you as I did.

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So shall I live to speak my father's words;-
Happy am I, that have a man so bold,
That dares do justice on my proper son:
And not less happy, having such a son
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice." You did commit me :
For which, I do commit into your hand

The unstained sword that you have used to bear;
With this remembrance,-that you use the same
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit,
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand;
You shall be as a father to my youth:

My voice shall sound as you do prompt my ears;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practised, wise directions.

II.

DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT IN A CAMP.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly1 sounds,

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 2 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.

1 Gently, lowly.

Discoloured by the gleam of the fires.

Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty1 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. O, 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,
With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
A largess universal, like the sun,

His liberal eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear.

III.

THE COMMONWEALTH OF BEES.

So work the honey-bees;

Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king and officers of sorts:

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon 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

1 Over-saucy.

The singing masons building roofs of gold;
The civil citizens kneading up the honey;
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to éxecutors pale
The lazy yawning drone.

HENRY VI.

King Henry. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea

Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
Now one the better, then another best.
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on the molehill will I set me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory;
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle: swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so:
For what is this world but grief and woe?
Ah me! 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 the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I attend my flock;
So many hours must I take rest;

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 sheer the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs into a quiet grave.
Ah what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!

F 3

Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
O yes it doth; a thousand fold, it doth.
And to conclude,

the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

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When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

RICHARD III.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.

Brakenbury. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me.

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;

And, in my company, my brother Gloster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk',
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud, "What, scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, -
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!"
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you!
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, -
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!

HENRY VIII.

THE TRIAL OF QUEEN KATHERINE.

Queen Katherine. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice;

And to bestow your pity on me: for

I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,

1 Body.

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