By heaven! it is a splendid sight to see,-
For one who hath no friend nor brother there,-
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery-
Their various arms that glitter in the air!
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,
And gnash their fangs, loud-yelling for the prey!
All join the chase, but few the triumph share:
The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc, scarce for joy, can number their array.
Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;
99 66 Albion," "Victory!"
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies :
The shouts are, "France," "Spain,"
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally,
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met—as if at home they could not die—
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,
And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain.
There shall they rot-Ambition's honored fools!
Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay !
Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools,-
The broken tools,-that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts-to what? -a dream alone.
Can despots combat aught that hails their sway?
Or call, with truth, one span of earth their own,
Sa that wherein, at last, they crumble bone by bone?
22. BRUTUS REPROACHING CASSIUS.
You have done that you should be sorry
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats:
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you
denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me:-was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,—
Dash him to pieces!
23. CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY.
(This and the following selection may be spoken together or separately.)
FAREWELL, a long farewell to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope;-to-morrow, blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him :
The third day comes a frost-a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely,
His greatness is a ripening-nips his root;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory-
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride,
At length, broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new opened. Oh! how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,-
That sweet aspect of princes,-and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
24. CARDINAL WOLSEY'S ADDRESS TO CROMWELL.
CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear,
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of; say I taught thee—
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one-though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still, in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blesséd martyr. Serve the king;
And,-Pr'ythee, lead me in
There take an inventory of all I have;
To the last penny,-'tis the king's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all
I dare now call my own.
O Cromwell! Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
25. SOLILOQUY OF HENRY IV.
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case to a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And, in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamors in the slippery shrouds,
That, with the hurly, Death itself awakes ?—
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
26. SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III.
GIVE me another horse:-bind up my wounds :-
Have mercy, Jesu:-soft; I did but dream!-
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!—
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.-
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am.
Then fly. What! From myself? Great reason; why?
Lest I revenge. What! Myself on myself?
I love myself? Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh, no, alas! I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain: yet I lie; I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well :-fool, do not flatter:-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues;
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree,
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair.-There is no creature loves me,
And, if I die, no soul will pity me:
Nay; wherefore should they; since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?—
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
27. THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN.
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
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