« FöregåendeFortsätt »
I prythee, gentle keeper, stay by me:
14. SCROOP AND RICHARD. SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!
K. RICH. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared ; The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why 'twas my care; And what loss is it to be rid of care ? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us. Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCBOOP. Glad am I that your highness is so armed To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolved to tears; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbrokecovering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel. White beards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms, against thy erown; The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double fatal yew against thy state. Yea, distaff women manage rusty bills Against thy seat : both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green ?
.. No matter where : of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs. Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
9. HAMLET AND HORATIO. Hor. Hail to your lordship! HAM,
I am glad to see you
well. Horatio !-or do I forget myself ?
HOR. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with And what makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? [you;
HOR. A truant disposition, good my lord.
HAM. I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall
do mine ear that violence,
HOR. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pr’ythee do not mock me, fellow-student : I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ; the funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my direst foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! My father—methinks I see my father.
HOR. Where,“my lord ?
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yester night.
The king my father!
HAM. For Heaven's love let me hear.
HOR. Two nights together had these gentlemen Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd: a figure like your father, Arm'd at all points exactly, cap-à-pie, Appears before them, and with solemn march Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they (distillid Almost to jelly with the act of fear) Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
And I with them the third night kept the watch ; | Where, as they had delivered, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
But where was this?
My lord, I did;
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour !
P. Hen. O pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, (The moist impediments unto my speech) I had forestallid this dear and deep rebuke, Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown : And he that wears the crown immortally, Long guard it yours! If I affect it more, Tban as your honour, and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, Which my most true and inward duteous spirit Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending. Heaven witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath with.n your majesty,
any rebel or vain spirit of mine
K. HEN. O my son !