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O you mighty gods ! This world I do renounce; and, in your sights, Shake patiently, my great affliction off.
Fates! we will know your pleasures :That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men stand upon.
I, in mine own woe charm'd, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him, where he struck : Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh
soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war. Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea, Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes Where
did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Ah, who is nigh ? come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick ? Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows That I must yield my body to the earth, And by my fall, the conquest to my
foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. The wrinkles in my brows, now fillid with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave ? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smeard in dust and blood !
Brave Percy: fare thee well!
To die,—to sleep,-
To die ;-to sleep;
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
Herald, save thou thy labour ; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald ; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints : Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, Shall leave them little. I pray thee, bear
former answer back; Bid them atchieve me, and then sell my
What man dare, I dare :
any thing that
I'll strike thee dead.. Put up thy sword betime;
shall think the devil is come from hell.
may not mis-become The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir
a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.
What I did, I did in honour, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you see, that I will beg A ragged and forestallid remission.
Thou injurious tribune ! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free As I do pray the gods. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other Aling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, flaying ; Pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word.
Behold! I have a weapon : A better never did itself sustain Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, That, with this little arm, and this good sword, I have made my way through more impediments Than twenty times your stop.
Gentle heaven, Cut short all intermission; front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven, forgive him too!
Thou losest labour : As easy may'st thou the entrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed : Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.
Let them come;
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme