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GOOD den*, sir Richard,—God-a-mercy, fellow ;-
For your conversion t. Now your traveller,-
At your employment; at your service, sir :
And so, ere answer knows what question would, (Saving in dialogue of compliment;
And talking of the Alps, and Appenines,
It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
And fits the mounting spirit, like myself:
That doth not smack of observation.
* Good evening.
Change of condition.
My travelled fop.
DESCRIPTION OF ENGLAND.
THAT pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
DESCRIPTION OF AN ENGLISH ARMY.
His marches are expedient* to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Atét, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king deceas'd: And all the unsettled humours of the land,— Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,— Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here. In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, Did never float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath† in Christendom. The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand.'
By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion.
* Immediate, expeditious. + The Goddess of Revenge. + Mischief.
What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath?
DESCRIPTION OF VICTORY BY THE FRENCH.
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground: Many a widow's husband groveling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French; Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors.
VICTORY DESCRIBED BY THE ENGLISH.
Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells; King John, your king and England's, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day!
Their armours, that march'd hence so silver bright,
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd forth;
A COMPLETE LADY.
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch?
Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
And France (whose armour conscience buckled on;
The world, who of itself is peised ‡ well,