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THE TIRED SPIRIT.

VEX not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him,

That would upon the rack of this rough world Stretch him out longer.

KING LEAR, A. 5, s. 3.

THE TITLE, LORDS, THE TITLE!

K. HENRY. Think'st thou, that I will leave
my kingly throne,

Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
Ay, and their colours-often borne in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great

sorrow,

Shall be my winding-sheet.-Why faint you,

lords?

My title's good, and better far than his.

WARWICK.

But prove it, Henry, and thou

shalt be king.

K. HEN. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. K. HEN. I know not what to say; my title's [Aside.

weak.

Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

YORK. What then?

K. HEN. An if he may, then am I lawful king:

For Richard, in the view of many lords,

Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth;
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign,

And made him to resign his crown perforce. WAR. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain❜d,

Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his

crown,

But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

K. HEN. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter?

EXE. His is the right, and therefore pardon

me.

YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

EXE. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king.

K. HENRY VI., PART III., A. 1, s. 1.

THE TRIALS OF HIGH POSITION. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me; for, accordingly, You tread upon my patience: but, be sure, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,

And therefore lost that title of respect,

Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud.

Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger
And disobedience in thine eye: O, sir,
Your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure

The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us; when
need

Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

we

K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 1, s. 3.

THE TRIUMPH OF INNOCENCE.
ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT.
Good morrow, little prince.
ARTH. As little prince (having so great a
title

To be more prince,) as may be.-You are sad.
HUB. Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTH.
Mercy on me!
Methinks, no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him :

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
HUB. If I talk to him, with his innocent
prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside.
ARTH. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale
to-day:

In sooth, I would you were a little sick;

That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant, I love you more than do me.

you

HUB. His words do take possession of my bosom.Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum!

[Aside.

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ ?

ARTH. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUB. Young boy, I must.

ARTH.

HUB.

And will

you ? And I will.

ARTH. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again :

And with my hand at midnight held your head;

And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your
grief?

Or, what good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it, cunning; Do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine
eyes ?

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?

HUB.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTH. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would

do it!

The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,

And quench his fiery indignation,

Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd
iron ?

An if an angel should have come to me,

And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's.
HUB. Come forth.
[Stamps.

Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, &c.
Do as I bid you do.

ARTH. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out,

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. HUB. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTH, Alas! what need you be so boist'rousrough?

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.

For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive

you,

Whatever torment you do put me to.

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