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Is more to me than the extended plains
Of my great father's kingdom; here I reign
In full delight, in joys to pow'r unknown,
Your love my empire, and your heart my throne.

Love.

'Ir music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again!-it had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweetest south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour.--Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.

What you

do

Still betters what is done. when you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms,
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: when you dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
'Nothing but that; move still, still so,

And own no other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,

Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

Pity.

As in a theatre the eyes of men,

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious,

Even so or with much more contempt, men's eyes,
Did scowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off.~
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,-
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,

And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heav'n hath a hand in those events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.

Hope.

O HOPE, Sweet flatterer, whose delusive touch
Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort,
Relieves the load of poverty; sustains
The captive bending with the weight of bonds,
And smooths the pillow of disease and pain;
Send back th' exploring messenger with joy,
And let me hail thee from that friendly grove.

Hatred.

WHY, get thee gone, horror and night go with thee,
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,

Go dance about the bow'r and close them in;
And tell them that I sent you to salute them.
Profane the ground, and for th' ambrosial rose,
And breath of jessamine, let hemlock blacken,
And deadly nightshade poison all the air:
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak,
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves:
May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall
Their hissing necks upon them from above,
And mingle kisses-such as I would give them.

Anger.

WHY have those banish'd and forbidden legs'
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But more than why-Why have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villagers with war,

And ostentation of despised arms?

Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,

And in my loyal bosom lies his pow'r.

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father and myself

Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

I

Revenge.

OH, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue !---But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Reproach.

O proper stuff!

This is the very painting of your fears;
This is the air-drawn dagger, which you said,
Led you to Duncan. Oh, these flaws and starts
(Impostors to true fear) would well become,
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,

Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces?

Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,

Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, thou dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too
And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou!
A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and swear,
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
Been sworn my soldier? Bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?

Thou wear'st a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

Fear and Terror.

How ill this taper burns! ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of my eyes,

That shapes this monstrous apparition.

It comes upon me---Art thou any thing?

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me, what thou art.

Light thickens and the crow

Makes wing to the rooky wood :

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse While night's black agents to their prey do rouse. Thou marvell'd at my words but hold thee still; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill."

Alas, I am afraid they have awak'd,

And 'tis not done; th' attempt and not the deed,
Confounds us Hark!-I laid the daggers ready,
He could not miss them. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done it.

Sorrow.

SEAMS, madam? nay, it is: I know not seams.
"Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the fruits of wo.

Remorse.

On when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation!

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done! Hast 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,
But taking note of thy abhorred aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable to be employed in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Author's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,

Mad'st it no conscience to destroy a prince.

Despair.

K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another Island,

So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

When death's approach is seen so terrible!

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me to my trial when you will,

Dy'd he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
Oh! torture me no more, I will confess.
Alive again? then show me where he is,
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him.
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.

Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs, to catch my winged soul!
Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with gentle eye upon this wretch.;

O beat away the busy meddling fiend,

That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair!

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin.
K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be !
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heav'n's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope,
He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him.

Surprise and Astonishment.

GONE to be married, gone to swear a peace.
False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces?
It is not so thou hast misspoke, misheard!

Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:

It cannot be thou dost but say 'tis so.

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er its bounds?
Be these sad sighs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
Or, have you read, or heard? or could you think? (
Or do you almost think, although you see,

That you do see? Could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,

The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of Murder's arms: This is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke,

That ever wall-ey'd Wrath, or starving Rage,
Presented to the tears of soft Remorse.

Pride.

YOUR grace shall pardon me, I will not back;
1 am too highborn to be property'd ;

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man and instrument

To any sovereign state throughout the world.

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war

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