Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, steel'd But Heaven hath a hand in thefe events, To whofe high will we bound our calm contents CHA P. XX. SHAKESPEAR R L I F E. EASON thus with life: If I do lofe thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art, That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft, For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun, And yet runn'st tow'rd him still. Thou art not noble ; For all th' accommodations that thou bear'ft, Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant ; Thy Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself; For thou exift'st on many a thousand grains, That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not; After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows, Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey, The mere effufion of thy proper loins, Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum, For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth nor age; But as it were an after-dinner's fleep; Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich, SHAKESPEAR. С НА Р. XXI. HOTSPUR's DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. REMEMBER, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathlefs and faint, leaning upon my fword; Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly drefs'd; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held He gave his nofe; and took't away again; And as the foldiers bare dead bodies by, With many holiday and lady terms He queftioned me: amongst the reft demanded I then, all smarting with the wounds; being gall'd Out of my grief, and my impatience, Anfwer'd, neglectingly, I know not what : He fhould, or fhould not; for he made me mad, To fee him fhine fo brifk, and fmell fo fweet, And talk fo like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God fave the mark) And telling me, the fovereign'ft thing on earth Was parmacity, for an inward bruife; And that it was great pity, fo it was, So Clarence's Dream. Book VIL Chap 22 Stothard del Blake se Then came wandring by Ashadon like an Angel, with bright hair Shakespeare. Published as the Act directs, by JJohnson in S.Pauls Church Yard, 1 Aug.1780. |