Obrázky stránek

The hearts

Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change.

The spinsters, corders, fullers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,
And Danger serves among them.

Now, neighbour-confines, purge you of your scum;
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall give him office, honour, might.

Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form,
Harry the Fifth is crown'd.

What rein can hold licentious wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil,

Or send precepts to th' Leviathan

To come a-shore.

Contention, like a horse

Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,

And bears down all before him.

God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf, Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head, And threat the glory of my precious crown.

There have been commissions

Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties:-wherein, although,

My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on

Of these exactions, yet the king our master,
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he
escapes not

Language unmannerly, yea such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.

O, turn thy edged sword another way;

Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.

These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches,
To face the garment of rebellion

With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurly-burly innovation.

Here do we make his friends
Blush, that the world goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did suffer by 't, behold
Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly.

The bay trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heav'n;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,


Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!

O, pity, God, this miserable age!-
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!

The time is out of joint;-O cursed spight!
That ever I was born to set it right!

I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears:
I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
Then why should they love Edward more than me?

Their weapons only Seem'd on our side: but for their spirits and souls, This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,

As fish are in a pond.

But now the Bishop

Turns insurrection to religion;

Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind.

Thus we debase

The nature of our seats, and make the rabble

Call our cares, fears; which will in time break ope
The locks o' th' senate, and bring in the crows
To peck the eagles.

The world is grown so bad,

That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman,

There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

Now let it work: Mischief, thou art afoot,
Take thou what course thou wilt!

Go thou, and like an executioner,

Cut off the heads of too-fast growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our commonwealth :
All must be even in our government.

No kind of traffick

Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none.

You may as well

Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them
Against the Roman state; whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever
Appear in your impediment.

Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable.

Stanley. Richmond is on the seas.

King Richard. There let him sink, and be the seas on him,

White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near,
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.

In the north? What do they do in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ?

Why head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.

Take but degree away, untune that string,
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets
In mere oppugnancy: The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe:
Strength should be lord of imbecility,

And the rude son should strike his father dead :
Force should be right.

Yet famine.

Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever

Of hardness is mother.


To do this deed,

Promotion follows: If I could find example
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear 't.

« PředchozíPokračovat »