LOOKE how the flowre, which lingringlie doth fade, The Morning's Darling late, the Summer's Queene, With swifter speede declines than earft it spred, Thinke on thy Home, (my Soule) and thinke aright, Thy Sunne poftes weftward, paffed is thy morne, Drummond, Flowres of Sion TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SWEET Bird, that fing'ft away the early howres, Of winters paft, or comming void of care, Well pleased with delights which prefent are, Sweet artleffe Songstarre, thou my minde dost raise SPEECHES. Harold's fpeech before the Battle of Haftings, "SEE E E valiant War-friends yonder be the first, the last, and all The agents of our Enemies, they hencefoorth cannot call Supplies; for weedes at Normandie by this in Porches groe: Then conquer thefe would conquer you, and dread no further foe. They are no ftouter than the Brutes, whom we did hence exile : Nor ftronger than the sturdy Danes, our victory ere while : vent. Yee have in hand your Countries caufe, a conqueft they pretend, Which (were yee not the fame yee be) even cowards would de fend. I graunt I graunt that part of us are fled and linked to the foe, But through the well or ill fupport of fubjects good or bad: Not Cæfar, Hengeft, Swayn, or now (which neretheles shall fayle) The Normane Baftard, Albion true, did, could, or can prevayle. But to be felfe-falfe in this 1fle a felfe-foe ever is, Yeat wot I, never traytour did his treafons ttipend mis. Shrinke who will fhrinke, let armors wayte preffe downe the burd'ned earth, My foes, with wondring eyes fhall fee I over-prize my death. But fince ye all (for all, I hope, alike affected bee, Your wives, your children, lives, and land, from fervitude to free) Are armed both in fhew and zeale, then glorioufly contend, To winne and weare the home-brought fpoyles, of Victorie the end. Let not the Skinners daughter Sonne poffeffe what he pretends, He lives to die a noble death that life for freedome spends." a Duke WILLIAM's Speech. "To O live upon or lie within this is my ground or grave Nor be ye Normanes now to feeke in what you should be stout, law, Ye come, I fay, in righteous warre revenging fwords to draw. Howbeit of more hardie foes no paffed flight hath spead yee, Since Rollo to your now-abode with bands victorious lead yee, Or Turchus, Sonne of Troylus, in Scythian Fazo bread yee. Then worthy your progenitors yee Seede of Pryam's fonne Exployt this Buifneffe, Rollons do that which yee wish be done. Three people have as many times got and forgone this fhore, bee, What |