Puslapio vaizdai

Gloucester's Diffimulation.

Why, I can fmile, and murther while I fmile; And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart ; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears; And frame my face to all occafions:

I'll drown more failors than the mermaid fhall

I'll flay more gazers than the bafilifk;
I'll play the orator, as well as Neftor;
Deceive more flily, than Ulyffes could;
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy:
I can add colours ev'n to the camelion;'
Change fhapes with Proteus, for advantages;
(8) And fet th' afpiring Catiline to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?


Henry VI. on his own Lenity.

I have not stopt mine ears to their demands,
Nor pofted off their fuits with flow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds;
My mildness hath allay'd their fwelling griefs;
My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears..
I have not been defirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppreft them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd.

(8) And fet, &c.]. I am of Mr. Warburton's opinion, this reading which is of the old quarto, is greatly preferable to that commonly received; not only because we thereby avoid an anachronism, but becaufe Richard, perhaps, may be more aptly compared to Catiline,. and because he inftances, all through the fpeech, from the ancients. The other reading is,

And fet the murd'rous Machiavel to school..




The Duke of Warwick's dying Speech.

Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend, or foe,
And tell me, who is victor, York or Warwick ?
Why afk I that? My mangled body fhews,

My blood, my want of ftrength, my fick heart fhews,
That I muft yield my body to the earth,

And, by my fall, the conqueft to my foe.
(9) Thus yields the cedar to the ax's edge,
Whofe arms gave shelter to the princely eagle;
Under whofe fhade the ramping lion slept ;

(9) Thus yields, &c.] For this grand and noble fimile, ShakeSpear is plainly indebted there, where, for the first time thro' this work, I am obliged, and gladly, to acknowledge him outdone. 'Tis from the 31ft chapter of the prophet Ezekiel, ver. 3. "Behold the Affyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of an high ftature, and his top was among the thick boughs. 4. The waters made him great, the deep fet him up on high with her rivers running round about his plants, and fent out her little rivers unto all the trees of the field. 5. Therefore his height was exalted above all the trees of the field, and his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long, because of the multitude of waters, when he shot forth. 6. All the fowls of heaven made their nefts in his boughs, and under his branches did all the beafts of the field bring forth their young, and under his fhadow dwelt all great nations. 7. Thus was he fair in his greatness, in the length of his branches: for his root was by great waters,. 8. The cedars in the garden of God could not hide him: the fir-trees were not like his boughs, and the chefnut-trees were not like his branches; not any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in his beauty. &c. ftrangers, the terrible of the nations have cut him off, and have left him upon the mountains, and in all the valleys his branches are fallen, and his boughs are broken by all the rivers of the land, and all the people of the earth are gone down from his shadow, and have left him. 13. Upon his ruin fhall all the fowls of the heaven remain, and all the beafts of the field fhall be upon his branches. &c. See the chapter.

12. And

The fcriptures, and more efpecially the prophets, abound with many fimilar paffages, fublime and exalted as this, which it would be endless to produce here,


D. 4.

Whose top-branch over peer'd Jove's spreading tree ; And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind. These

eyes, that now are dim'd with death's black veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun, To search the secret treasons of the world. The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood, Were lik’ned oft to kingly fepulchres : For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave ? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow I Lo! now my glory smear'd in duft and blood, (10) My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Ev'n now forsake me; and of all my lands Is nothing left me, but my body's length. SCENE VII. Omens on the Birth of Richard III.

(11) The owl Mriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ;: The night crow cry'd; a boding luckless tune;

(10) My parks, &c.]" I won't venture to affirm, says Mr. Tbeobald, our author is imitating Horace here : but surely this paslage is very much of a cast with that which I am about to quote.'

Linquenda tellus, et Domus, et placens
Uxor : 'neque barum quas colis, arborum
Je præter invisas cuprelos,
Ulla brevem Dominum fequetur.

B. 2. ode 141
Thy spacious fields, thy splendid house,
Thy plealing wife must thou forego,
Nor of those trees, thy hands have rais'd,
Except the baleful cypress boughs,

Shall one attend their short-liv.'d lord below.
Dryden has beautifully copied the last line, in his Antony and
Cleopatra, where he makes the desponding hero, throwing him-
self on the ground, thus lament.

Lie there, the shadow of an emperor,
The place thou presseft on thy mother earth

Is all thy empire now.--(11) The owl, &c.] See an account of the prodigies on the birth of Glendower, p. 6. 9.6.


A. I,

Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempefts shook down trees;
The raven croak'd hoarse on the chimney's top,
And chattering pyes in dismal difcords fung:
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
To wit, an indigested, deform'd lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadit thou in thy mouth when thou wast born,
To signify, thou cam't to bite the world:
And, if the reft be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'it into the world with thy legs forward.

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The Life of HENRY VIII.



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A full-hot horfe, who, being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him.

SCENE IV. Action to be carried on with Re


If I'm traduc'd by tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor perfon; yet will be
The chronicles of my doing: let me say,

'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue muft go through: we must not stint
Our neceffary actions, in the fear,

To cope malicious cenfurers: which ever,
As rav’nous fishes, do a vessel follow
'That is new trimm'd: but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
By fick interpreters, or weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd: what worst, as oft
Hitting a groffer quality, is cry'd up

For our beft act: if we ftand fill, in fear,

Our motion will be mock'd or carped at,
We should take root here, where we fit; or fit
State-ftatues only.


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