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But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Gaoler. Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life: 0, then began the tempest to my soul, Who passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, “What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?' And so he vanished: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeaked out aloud, “Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environed me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream.*
King Richard III., i. 4.
* See the philosophic remarks of Lucretius :
• Mens sibi conscia factis, Præmetuens adhibet stimulos, terretque flagellis,' &c.
De Rerum Nat., iii.
(Gaunt loq.) This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone, set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Feared by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
* This exaggeration of the couleur-de-rose style may well be excused to a Plantagenet and to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. But History tells a different story.
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds :
King Richard II., ii. 1.
I'll lend you thus much moneys ? '
O Father Abram, what these Christians are,
The Merchant of Venice, i. 3.
THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION.
A Midsummer Night's Dream, v. i.
LOVE that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying That's good that's gone. Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust. Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.
All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3.
My fairest friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that
might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold