There's nothing in this world can make me joy; (9) Life is as tedious as a twice told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. Departing Difeafes. Before the curing of a strong disease, Ev'n in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest: evils that take leave, On their departure, most of all fhew evil. Danger lays hold of any Support.. He that stands upon a flipp'ry place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up. ACT IV. SCENE I. Arthur's pathetic Speeches to Hubert. Methinks, nobody should be fad but I; * * Have I knit * * * * * * * * * * you the heart? when your head did but ake, my handkerchief about your brows; (The best I had, a princefs wrought it me) (9) Life, &c.] So in another part of the play, he says, This act is as an ancient tale new told, And I bring this paffage chiefly that the Reader may more carefully dwell on the inimitable beauties of that in the text. And I did never afk it you again; And with my hand at midnight held your So much as frown on you. * * * * * * * * * * * * Alas, what need you be fo boift'rous rough? I will not ftir nor wince, nor fpeak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Is there no remedy? Hub. None but to lofe your eyes. Art. O heav'n! that there were but a moth in yours, A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious fense: Then, feeling what small things are boift'rous there, Your vile intent muft needs feem horrible. SCENE II. To add to Perfection, fuperfluous, and fufpicious. To gild refin'd gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To To smooth the ice, or add another hue * * * * * * * * * * * In this the antique and well-noted face It makes the courfe of thoughts to fetch about; Makes found opinion fick, and truth fufpected, Murderer's Look. This is the man fhou'd do the bloody deed; Does fhew the mood of a much troubled breast. Struggling Confcience. The colour of the king doth come and go, Between his purpose and his confcience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles fent; His paffion is fo ripe, it needs must break. SCENE IV. News-tellers on the Death of Arthur. Old men and beldams, in the streets, Do prophecy upon it dangeroufly : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths; And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrift, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes; The The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool, Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. Kings evil Purposes too fervilely and haftily executed. By (10) It is the curfe of kings, to be attended flaves that take their humours for a warrant, To break into the bloody house of life : And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law, to know a meaning Of dang❜rous majesty, when perchance, it frowns A Vil (10) It is, &c.] So the king, in A King and no King, observes, If there were no fuch inftruments as thou, That breaks each precept both of God and man, Merely because it is a law, and good, And live with him; for him thou can'ft not spoil. And a little before, he fpeaks of Beffus, as the most horrid object, after confenting to his wicked propofal. But thou appear'ft to me after thy grant, Like flames of fulphur, which methinks do dart Enough to take me in, where there does stand Four rows of iron teeth-wes A& 3. the end, A Villain's Look, and wicked Zeal. How oft the fight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done? For had'ft not thou been by, A fellow, by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted and fign'd to do a deed of shame, This murther had not come into my mind. Hadft thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I fpake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, Or bid me tell my tale in exprefs words; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. Truft not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villainy is not without fuch rheum; And he long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocence. SCENE VII. Despair. (11) If thou didst but consent Will strangle thee: a rush will be a beam To hang thee on or wouldst thou drown thyself, And it shall be as all the ocean, ACT (11) It is, &c.] So in the Winter's Tale. Paulina tells the king his crime is fo great, it can never be forgotten, and nothing re mains for him but to despair. |