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THE ENTRY OF BOLINGBROKE AND RICHARD INTO LONDON.
Duke and Duchess of York.
Ditch. MY Lord, you told me, you would tell the rest. When weeping made you break the story off, Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch. At that sad stop, my Lord,
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BoUnghroke,
Duch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the white?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, . Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or^ith n%ch more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl o»RMfcrti; no.mautry'd/God save him! No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
'Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
(His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience)
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him,
But Heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
REASON thus with life i
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences,
That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st tow'rd him still. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'fl by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, *
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself;
For thou exist on many a thousand grains,
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, btiil thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
A*fter the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor j'
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riche» but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou hast none;
For thy own bowels, which do call the sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youtn' nor age;
But as it were an after dinner's steep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied 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 thu
That bears the name of life P yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
HOTSPUR's DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.
1 DO remember, when the fight was done,
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuC — And still he smil'd, and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To hring 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 my wounds ; being gall'd
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer'd, neglectingly, 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 2)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise j
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
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.
Srak. WHY looks your grace so heavily to-day?
That as I am a Christian faithful man,
Krak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you
CUr. Methought that I had broken from the tow'r And was imbarh'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 shousand 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 tru.t Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought 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 sights of ugly death within mine eyes! I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks: A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvallued jewels; Some lay in dead men's sculls; 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.
Brat. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
Clar. Methought 1 had; and often did 1 strive