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THOU shalt never have my curse;

Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but

Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in: thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;

Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

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?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

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:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;

Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those

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!
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,—
What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,

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,—
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

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.


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


He shortens four years of my son's exíle:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons, and bring their times

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
K. RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many
years to live.

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


Thou canst 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.

K. RICH. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,

Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?
GAUNT. Things sweet to taste, prove in
digestion sour.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather,
You would have bid me argue like a father :-
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,


To smooth his fault I should have been more


A partial slander sought I to avoid,

And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say,
I was too strict, to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.
K. RICH. Cousin, farewell :—and, uncle, bid
him so;

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
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a

BOLING. Joy absent, grief is present for that



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
The precious jewel of thy home-return.

BOLING. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I

Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages; and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?

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.
Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not-the king exiled thee: or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it

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