THE KING'S REPROACHFUL THOU shalt never have my curse; Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot, KING LEAR, A. 2, s. 4. THE KING THE BEST MORALIST. CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,) Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. K. HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,— Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! K. HENRY VI., PART III., A. 2, s. 2. THE KING, THE FATHER, AND THE SON, PHILOSOPHISE ON THE NATURE OF TIME AND EXILE. BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word; Such is the breath of kings. GAUNT. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me, He shortens four years of my son's exíle: My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, GAUNT. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, K. RICH. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave; You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, : To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Exeunt K. RICHARD and Train. AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where do you remain, let paper show. MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me, by your side. Ọ, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? BOLING. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal BOLING. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. GAUNT. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. BOLING. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. BOLING. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set BOLING. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I Will but remember me, what a deal of world GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, |