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For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look


the iron angerly; Thrust but these men away, I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. l; there no remedy? Hub.

None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a moat in

yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

PERFECTION ADMITS OF NO ADDITON. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.

In this, the antique and well noted-face,
of plain old form is much disfigured:
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about:
Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashioned robe.


This is the man should do the bloody deed;
The image of a wicked henious fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast,


The colour of the king doth come and go,
Between his purpose

and his conscience,
* Decorate.

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Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break:


Old men,

and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
And when they talk of him they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action.
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes,
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,

open mouth swallowing a tailor's news.
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.



It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life: And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect. *

A VILLAIN'S LOOK, AND READY ZEAL. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn’d an eye of doubt upon my face,

* Deliberate consideration. + Observed

As bid me tell my tale in express words;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.


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Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without such rheum;*
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorsef and innocency.

If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be
A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown

Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.



Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks;
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation:
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figurd quite o'er with bưrning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping.
* Moisture.

† Pity.


Strike up the drums: and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest.

Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's* ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder.

It is too late; the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain [house)
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-
Doth, by the idle cornments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow room;
It would not out at windows, nor atdoors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up,
Poison'd,-ill fare:--dead, forsook, cast off:
And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn’d bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
And comfort me with cold.

England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror;
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
ome the three corners of the world in arms,


And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us

rue, If England to itself do rest but true.




THE purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is-spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.

That wbich in mean men we entitle-patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.


All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity, Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Wo doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say—I sent thee forth to purchase honours And not—the king exil'd thee: or suppose, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime. Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goʻst, not whence thou com’st, Suppose the singing birds, musicians; The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence*

strew'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more Than a delightful measure, or a dance: For gnarlingt sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. * Presence chamber at court. | Growling

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