Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders,
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-wall'd bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.-Act 2, Sc. 1.
Pandulph. A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd:
And he that stands upon a slippery place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.-Act 3, Sc. 4. Earl of Pembroke. When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness:
And oftentimes, excusing of a fault,
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse;
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Discredit more in hiding of the fault,
Than did the fault before it was so patched.-Act 4, Sc. 2. Hubert. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night:
Four fix'd; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.
King John. Five moons?
Hubert. 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,
With 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 embattailed and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean, unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.-Id.
Philip Faulcon bridge. Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:-Sc. 3.
Philip Faulconbridge. Come 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.-Act 5, Sc. 7.
Duke of Norfolk. The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times barr'd up chest Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done:-Act 1, Sc. I.
King Richard. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
John of Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canʼst give :
Shorten my days thou can'st with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death;
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.-Se. 3.
John of Gaunt. 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: woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Bolingbroke. O! who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or clog the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December's snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O! no; the apprehension of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Than when it bites. but lanceth not the sore.-Id.
John of Gaunt. Will the King come? that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstayed youth.
Duke of York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
John of Gaunt. O! but they say, the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention, like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say, is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze;
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
The setting sun, and musick at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.-Act 2. Sc. 1.
John of Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd;
And thus expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last;
For violent fires soon burn out themselves:
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder:
Like vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon himself.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This fortress, built by nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home
(For Christian service and true chivalry,)
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,)
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm :
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:
O! would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death.—Id.
Duke of York. I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman :
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O! Richard; York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.-Id.
KING HENRY IV.-PART I.
Falstaff. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes: and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,-sweet young prince. -But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought.-Act 1. Sc. 2.
Hotspur. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
He was perfumed like a milliner:
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took 't away again;—
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff:-and still he smiled, and talk'd;
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them-untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Between the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answered neglectingly, I know not what;
He should, or he should not; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds,
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bold unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And, I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love, and your high majesty.-Sc. 3.
Hotspur. Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it from the north to south,
Methinks it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
So he that doth redeem her thence, might wear,
Without corrival, all her dignities.-Id.
Poins. Come shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet,
Prince Henry. Stand close. (Enter FALSTAFF.)
Falstaff. Poins! Poins! and be hanged! Poins!
Prince Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal; what a brawling dost thou keep!
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