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The manner of thy vile, outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forged, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen :
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degree;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifes:?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. - Lords, vouche
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,
As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissension, who preferreth peace
More than I do - except I be provoked ?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that, that hath incensed the duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he,
No one, but he, should be about the king;
And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know I am as good ·

Glo.
Thou bastard of my grandfather!-

As good?

Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,

But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest?
Win. And am I not a prelate of the church?
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,

And useth it to patronage his theft.

Win. Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.

Thou art reverent

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Win. This, Rome shall remedy.

Glo.

Roam thither, then.

SHAKSPEARE

THE MURDER OF PRINCE ARTHUR.

PEMBROKE SALISBURY BIGOT — HUBERT- THE BASTARD.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's-Bury; It is our safety, and we must embrace

This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pem. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France;
Whose private with me, of the dauphin's love,
Is much more general than these lines import.
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.
Sal. Or, rather then set forward; for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Enter the Bastard.)

Bast. Once more to-day, well met, distempered lords!
The king, by me, requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossessed himself of us;

We will not line his thin bestainéd cloak

With our pure honors, nor attend the foot

That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks :

Return, and tell him so we know the worst.

Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 't were reason you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison: what is he lies here?

(Seeing Arthur.) Pem. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,

Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

Big. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave,

Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,

Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?

Or do you almost think, although you see,

That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The hight, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,

That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage,

Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pem. All murders past do stand excused in this; And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet unbegotten sin of time;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?
We had a kind of light what would ensue :
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
The practice, and the purpose of the king:-
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,

By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words
(Enter Hubert.)

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death:
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.

Sal.
Must I rob the law? (Drawing his sword |
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I sîy •
By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as yours;
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,

Nor tempt the danger of my true defense;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ?
Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend

My innocent life against an emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Hub.

Do not prove me 30;

Yet, I am none: whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

Pem. Cut him to pieces.

Bast.

Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge!
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me or stir thy foot,

Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting iron,

That you

shall think the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renownéd Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer ?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big.

Who killed this prince?
Hub. 'T is not an hour since I left him well:

1 honored him, I loved him; and will weep

My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savors of a slaughter house,
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there!
Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out.

(Exeunt Lor's) Bast. Here's a good world!— knew you of this fair work? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach

Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,

Art thou damned, Hubert.

Hub.

Do but hear me, sir.

Bast. Ha, I'll tell thee what;

Thou art damned as black-nay, nothing is so black:
Thou art more deep damned than prince Lucifer;

There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell

As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hub. Upon my soul,--

Bast.

If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair;

And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb

Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be

A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,

Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Bast.

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Go bear him in thine arms.
I am amazed, methinks; and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.—
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven: and England now is left
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud swelling state.
Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at home,
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed: I'll to the king.
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

SHAKSPEARE

THE ENCHANTER AND HIS FAMILIAR SPIRIT

PROSPERO ARIEL.

Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be 't to fly,

To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride

On the curled clouds; to thy strong bidding task
Ariel, and all his quality.

Pro.

Hast thou, spirit,

Performed to point the tempest that I bade thee?

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