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Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own but death:
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which ferves as paste and cover to our bones.
For Heav'n's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad stories of the death of Kings;
How some have been depos'd, fome flain in war ;
Some haunted by the ghost they difpoffefs'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives; fome fleeping kill'd;
All murder'd.-For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a King,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his ftate, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks:
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the laft, and with a little pin

Bores through his caftle walls, and farewel King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood.
With folemn rev'rence! throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but miftook me all this while ;
I live on bread like you, feel want like you;
Tafte grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus,
How can you fay to me I am a King ?

SHAKSPEARE.

СНАР.

CHAP. XIV.

HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER.

GLEN. SIT, coufin, Percy; fit, good coufin Hotfpur 3

For by that name, as oft as Lancaster

Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale! and with
A rifing figh, he wisheth you in heav'n.

Hor. And you in hell as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of..

GLEN. I cannot blame him. At my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery fhapes,
Of burning creffets: know that at my birth,
The frame and the foundation of the earth.
Shook like a coward..

Hor. So it would have done

At the fame feafon if your mother's cat

Had kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
GLEN. I fay, the earth did shake when I was born.
HOT. I fay, the earth then was not of my mind;

If you fuppofe, as fearing you, it shook.

GLEN. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hor. O! then the earth fhook to see the heav'ns on fire, And not in fear of your nativity.

Difeafed Nature oftentimes breaks forth

In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming earth-
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd,
By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb; which, for enlargement ftriving,
Shakes the old beldame Earth, and topples down
Steeples and mofs-grown tow'rs. At your birth.

Our

Our grandam Earth, having this diftemp'rature
In paffion fhook.

GLEN. Coufin, of many men.

I do not bear thefe croflings; give me leave-
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were ftrangely clam'rous in the frighted fields:
Thefe figns have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do fhew,

I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipt in with the fea,

That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland,
Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me?

And bring him out that is but woman's fon,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,

Or hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hor. I think there is no man fpeaks better Welch. GLEN. I can fpeak English, lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English court:

Where, being young, I framed to the harp

Many an English ditty, lovely well,

And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;

A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hor. Marry! and I'm glad of it with all my heart: I'd rather be a kitten, and cry mew!

Than one of thefe fame metre- ballad mongers!
I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree,
And that would nothing fet my teeth on edge,
Nothing fo much as mincing poetry;
"Tis like the forc'd gait of a fhuffling nag.

GLEN

GLEN. And I can call spirits from the vafty deep.
Hor. Why, fo can I, or so can any man:

But will they come when you do call for them? ́

GLEN. Why, I can teach thee to command the devil, HOT. And I, can teach thee, çoz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil.

If thou haft power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be fworn, I've power to fhame him hence.
Oh, while you live, Tell truth and fame the devil!

CHAP. XV.

SHAKSPEARE

HOTSPUR READING A LETTER.

BUT UT for mine own part, my Lord, I could be "well contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear 66 your houfe." He could be contented to be there; why is he not then?" In refpect of the love he bears our house !” He fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me fee fome more. The purpose you "undertake is dangerous. Why, that is certain; it is dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink: but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle Danger, we pluck this flower Safety." The purpofe you undertake is dangerous, "the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself un"forted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise "of fo great an oppofition." Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a

frofty

frofty-fpirited rogue this is? Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him with his Lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, befides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month and are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a Pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall fee now, in very fincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a dish of skimmed milk with fo honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are preSHAKSPEARE pared; I will fet forward to night..

CHAP. XVI.

HENRY IV.'s SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.

How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour asleep? O gentle. Sleep!
Nature's foft nurfe, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And fleep my fenfes in forgetfulness!

Why rather, Sleep, lay'st thou in fmoky cribs,
Upon uneafy pallets ftretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with founds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god! why lay't thou with the vile
In lothfome beds, and leav'ft the kingly couch.

A watch

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