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Teach thy neceffity to reason thus:
There is no virtue like neceffity,

And think not, that the king did banish thee;
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the king exil'd thee. Or suppose,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it

To lye that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'st: Suppofe the finging-birds, musicians;

The grafs, whereon thou tread'ft, the prefence-floor;
The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance.

For gnarling forrow hath lefs pow'r to bite
The man, that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Thoughts, ineffectual to moderate Affliction.

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feaft?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic fummer's heat?
Oh, no, the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse;
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore..

SCENE VII. Popularity.

Ourfelf, and Busby Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people ;,

All places are our country, where we're well;
Which to the wife, is wherefoe'er they dwell.
L 5


S. R. Fanshawe

How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy,

What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune :
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench:
A brace of dray-men bid, God fpeed him well!
And had the tribute of his fupple knee:

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With, Thanks my countrymen, my loving friends. As were our England in reverfion his,

And he our fubjects' next degree in hope.



This royal throne of kings, this fcepter'd ifle,
This earth of majesty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi Paradife,

This fortrefs built by nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or of a moat defenfive to a house,
Against the envy of lefs happier lands;


* * * * *


* *



England, bound in with the triumphant fea,
Whofe rocky fhores beats back the envious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is bound in with fhame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conqueft of itself.


SCENE V. Grief.

Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which fhew like grief itself, but are not fo:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perfpectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form.-

SCENE VI. Hope, deceitful.

I will defpair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper-back of death;
Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falfe hopes linger in extremity.

SCENE XI. The Prognoftics of War.

The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth;
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change:
Rich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap.


Richard to England, on his Arrival.

As a long-parted mother (3) with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and fimiles in meeting;
So weeping, fmiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy fovereign's foe, my entle earth,


(3) With, &c.] The fenfe feems evidently to require from.

Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous sense;
But let thy fpiders which fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping steps do trample thee.
Yield ftinking nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bofom pluck a flow'r,
Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whofe double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy fovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, lords;
This earth fhall have a feeling; and these flones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native king
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

The Sun rifing after a dark Night.

-Know'st thou not,

That when the fearching eye of heav'n is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world;
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody here:
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole;
Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.

SCENE IV. On the Vanity of Power, and Mifery of Kings.

No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs,
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth!
Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath,


Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
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 ftories of the death of kings.
How fome have been depos'd, fome flain in war;
Some haunted by the ghofts they difpoffefs'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives; fome fleeping kill'd:
All murther'd.-For within the hollow crown (4),
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 mistook me all this while :
I live on bread like you; feel want like you;
Taite grief, want friends like you: fubjected thus,
How can you fay to me, I am a king ?

(4) For, &c.] So in Philafter, the king says,,

Alas, what are we kings?

Why do you, gods, place us above the reft,.
To be ferv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd, till we
Believe we hold within our hands your thunder:
And when we come to try the pow'r we have,
There's not a leaf shakes at our threatnings!



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