PRINCE HENRY S Defence OF

HIMSELF.

[From King Henry IV.]

God forgive them, that have so much sway'd

Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!

I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you that I am your son; When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favors in a bloody mask, Watch, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,

That this same child of honor and renown,

This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,

And your unthought-of Harry chance

to meet :

For every honor sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes; and on my head

My shames redoubled! for the time will

come

That I shall make this northern youth exchange

His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;

And I will call him to so strict account, That he shall render every glory up, Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,

Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.

This, in the name of God, I promise here:

The which, if He be pleas'd I shall perform,

I do beseech your majesty may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:

If not, the end of life cancels all bands; And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,

Ere break the smallest parcel of this

PRINCE

HENRY'S SPEECH ON THE DEATH OF HOTSPUR. [From King Henry IV.]

FARE thee well, great heart! Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk !

When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound:
But now, two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough:- this earth, that bears
thee dead,

Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,

I should not make so dear a show of zeal:

But let my favors hide thy mangled face; And, even in thy behalf, Í'll thank myself For doing these fair rites of tenderness. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to

heaven:

RICHARD DUKE OF GLOSTER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF. [From King Henry VI.]

WHY, I can smile, and murder while I smile;

And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions;
I'll drown more sailors than the me: .
maid shall;

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor;
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy:
I can add colors to the chameleon;
Change shapes with Proteus for advan-
tages,

And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this and cannot get a crown?

DYING WORDS OF WARWICK THE KING MAKER. [From King Henry VI.]

THESE eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,

sun,

glass;

I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;

Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,

Have no delight to pass away the time; Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore, since I cannot prove

a lover,

To entertain these fair well spoken

days,

I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

CARDINAL WOLSEY ON THE VICISSITUdes of life. [From King Henry VIII.]

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,

This many summers in a sea of glory;

But far beyond my depth; my highblown 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 this world, I hate ye;

I feel my heart new open'd: O, 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.

TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS
AWAY.

[From Measure for Measure.] TAKE, O take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Hide, O hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears: But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

LOVE AND LUST.

[From Venus and Adonis.] LOVE comforteth like sunshine after rain; But I ast's effect is tempest after sun; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain;

Lust's winter comes, ere summer half be done.

Love surfeits not; Lust like a glutton dies: Love is all truth; Lust full of forged lies.

SUNRISE.

[From Venus and Adonis.] Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,

And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast

The sun ariseth in his najesty;

Who doth the world so gloriously be hold,

The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish d gold.

LUCRETIA SLEEPING.

[From Rape of Lucrece

HER lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,

Swelling on either side to want his bliss; Between whose hills her head entombed is;

Without the bed her other fair hand was, On the green coverlet, whose perfect white

Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.

Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light,

And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;

O modest wantons! wanton modesty! Showing life's triumph in the map of death,

And death's dim look in life's mortality. Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, As if between them twain there were no strife,

But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled

with blue,

A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,