William Henry Ireland

“ The sparkling drop which graces every eye, And fain wou'd deluge every manly cheek, Denotes the brimful sorrow of each heart; Pity disgraces not the manlike brow, And yet it suits but ill the present crisis, When our best strength and wisdom both are needful, To stem this black, this damn'd conspiracy; For bloody war and foul rebellion lurk Beneath the mask of cruel treachery, Which i'th' present is so plainly shewn, By the brutal deed of these vile Scotsmen! ”

“ Trusting to thee, our noble good Protector, We do, without delay, pronounce as guilty, The perpetrators of this crying deed. We also do, with general accord, Beseech you bear the office of a King, Until the Princes do return from Rome; For on Aurelius, now the elder son Of our deceased King the election lights; Well do we know how tedious is this task, How full of trouble and perplexity! But we do also know thee for a man, Most good, most perfect, and most merciful! ”

“ Nay, o'that I think not, for thou wou'dst joke, but an thou dost, thou hast rare impudence to do't i'th' presence of a fool. When thy beard is somewhat blacker, When thy years have made thee riper, When in thy purse the pounds thou'lt tell, And for a brothel thou't not sell Thy patrimony, and thy lands, Why marry, an I should then find nought more suiting, my charity shall bid me follow thee, and teach thee the ways o'this slippery world. ”

“ Soother of every sorrow, that can'st bury The care-distracted mind in sweet oblivion, To thee, O gentle pow'r! I pawn my soul! Here then, on my bended knee, great God, Let me implore thy grace, and look for mercy; Though thou hast plac'd me sovereign over men, And on my brow hath fix'd a diadem; Yet am I subject still to human frailty, And naught can boast more than my meanest vassal. How wisely hast thou fram'd thy work of nature, Even the smallest reptile hath its instinct, Aye, is as nicely form'd as man, himself. Both too must die, both rot and come to dust. ”

“ For ere the thick and noisome air of night Shall with damned Hecate's baneful spells be fill'd, Thou must from hence to the cold bed of death, To whom alike peasant and king are slaves. Come then black night, and hood the world in darkness, Seal close the hearts of those I have suborn'd, That pity may not turn them from their purpose. ”

“ Oh! is't not most manlike, that we stain Our hands with blood that ne'er did us offend? Is't not most serpent like, to sting sweet sleep, Which even from the giant takes all strength, And makes man taste of that which is to come? Let us, I pray thee friend, turn from the deed! I cannot, dare not, nay! ”

“ O what an inconsistent thing is man! There was a time when e'en the thought of murder Would have congeal'd my very mass of blood; "And, as a tree, on the approaching storm, "E'en so my very frame would shake and tremble:" But now I stand not at the act itself, Which breaks all bonds of hospitality.— To me, the King hath ever been most kind ”

“ As frozen age we find doth fast approach, And state affairs lie heavy with ourself, We here to thee half of our pow'r resign, That thy reward may pace with this thy labour. To this our proposition what reply? VORTIGERN.
Oh! my most noble, good, and bounteous lord, These honours are indeed so great, so weighty, I fear lest like a garment too confin'd, They aukwardly should press upon the wearer. Therefore, my gracious lord! let one more worthy, I do beseech thee, bear them. CONSTANTIUS.
Nay! nay! ”

“ Of old, your Fool did make your sage one tremble, but my foolship hath not found it so. Times must indeed be bad, when fools lack wit to battle wise mens ire; nay, but I have legs, therefore can run; a heart, that's merry, but wou'd be more so, an 'twas drench'd with sack from my ladle ”

“ Good heav'n's! so soon, O my Pascentius, Each moment lost is an eternity. [Exeunt.]
FOOL.
Nay, then ye are gone and ha left your poor Fool behind. Methinks I love that young master; nay, I know not how 'tis, but my legs wou'd needs go follow him; yet master Fool, is this wisdom? for they say the legs should ne'er carry away the brains; yet let me see, cannot I, in my folly, now form this saying, and turn it to mine own conceit? I ha hit it; for it matters not what comes o' my brains, for men say they are good for naught, but my legs are ”