154 HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.

HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.

How
many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

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And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,

In loathsome beds; and leavest the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell ?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

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Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 20
With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,.
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

SHAKSPEARE.

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WOLSEY.

FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

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More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 20 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

SHAKSPEARE.

ODE TO TRUTH.

I. 1.

SAY, will no white-robed Son of Light,
Swift darting from his heavenly height,

Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;

Here wave his amber locks; unfold

His pinions clothed with downy gold;

Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?

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And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known
Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne
With harpings high of inexpressible praise,

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Will not your train descend in radiant state, [Fate? To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of

I. 2.

"T is silence all. No Son of Light

Darts swiftly from his heavenly height;

No train of radiant Saints descend. "Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,

If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind,

Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend."

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So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of her burning throne;

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Where aye she sits with star-wreathed lustre

A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone. [crown'd:
So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear:
With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.

I. 3.

"Attend, ye sons of men; attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray

Break through the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace?

II. 1.

"Shall then your earth-born daughters vie With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye

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But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom, Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays, Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay,

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Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day

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Shall pass, and she is gone; while I appear [year. Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heaven's eternal II. 2.

"Know, Mortals, know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung,

I shone amid the heavenly throng.
These eyes beheld Creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,

And taught Archangels their triumphant song.
Pleased I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flowering earth,

And Ocean heave on his extended bed;
Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky,
The tawny lion stalk, the rapid eagle fly.

II. 3.

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"Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heaven's hallow'd image stampt upon his face, And as he rose the high behest was given, That I alone, of all the host of Heaven, Should reign Protectress of the godlike youth: Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me

Truth."

MASON.

P

THE BARD.

I. 1.

"RUIN seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait;
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor ev'n thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side

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He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: "To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering

lance.

I. 2.

On a rock, whose haughty brow

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe,

With haggard eyes the poet stood;
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair

Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

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Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave,
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
O'er thee, O king! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,

To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.