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Thy death which is no more. Thour't not thyself;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, ftill thou striv'it to get ;

And what thou haft, forget’st. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon.

If thou art rich, thou'rý poor ;
For, like an ass, whole back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou hast none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee fire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
To curse the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age;
But as it were an after dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palfied Eld; and when thou’rt old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor bounty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life : yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

SHAKESPEARE.

CHAP. XXI.

HOTSPUR's DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,

Came

Came there a certain lord, neat trimly dress’d;
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd,
Shew'd like a stubble-land at harveft home.
He was perfum'd like a milliner ;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose; and took't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff.—And still he smild and talk’d;
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me: amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf,
I then, all smarting with the wounds; being galld
To be so pefter’d with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer'd, negle&tingly, I know not what:
He should, or should not ; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark)
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth,
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous faltpetre should be diggd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly : and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
3

CH A P.

CHAP. XXII.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.

CLARENCE AND BRAKENBURY.
Brax. WHY looks your grace fo heavily to-day ?

CLAR. O! I have pass’d a miserable night,
So full of ugly fights, of ghaftly dreams,
That as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you

tell me.

CLAR. Methought that I had broken from the Tow'r, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Glo'ster ; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befall’n us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that fought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What fights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 3. I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;

A thou.

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Where eyes

A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon :
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels ;
Some lay in dead men's sculls: and in those holes

did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, refle&ing gems,
That woo'd the flimy 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 the secrets of the deep.

ÇLAR. Methought I bad; and often did I strive
To yield the ghoft; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burit to belch it in the sea.

BRAK. Awak'd you not with this fore agony
CLAR. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life:
then became the tempeft to my

foul ! I pass’d, methought, the melancholy flood, With thai 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 cry'd 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 wak’d; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impresion-made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell-it.

CLAR. Ah, Brakenbury! I have done those things
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's fake ; and see how he requites me!
O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng's on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :
O spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children !
I pr’ythee, Brakenbury, stay by me:
My soul is heavy, and I fain would seep.

SHAKSFEARE.

CHAP. XXII.

QUEEN M. A B.
OTHEN I fee Queen Mab hath been with you,
She is the Fancy's midwife, and the comes
In Hape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman;
Drawn by a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie afleep;
Her waggon spokes made of long spinner's legs;
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers ;
The traces—of the smallest {pider's web;
The collars--of the moonshine's, watery beams;

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