« 이전계속 »
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
| C H A P. x IX. The Entry of Bolingbroke and Richard.
Duke and Duchess of York.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord,
broke! You would have thought the very windows spakeg So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes . Upon his visage ; and that all the walls With painted imag'ry had said at once, Jesu preserve thee! welcome Bolingbroke! Whilst be, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespoke thein thus: I thank you, countrymen : - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides be the
while ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cry'd, God save
him! No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, (His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience) That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeld The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But Heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
CI A P. X X.
Life. Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee , I do lose a thing That none but fools would reck: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skiey influences, That do this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool'; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet runn'st tow'rd hini still. Thou art not
noble ; For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness : thou art by no means pas
liant ; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
nor age; .
bouniy, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life? yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
C H A P. x x I. Hotspur's Description of a Fop. I do remember, when the fight was done , When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd; Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin , new reap'd, Shew'd like a stubble land at harvest home. He was perfumed like a milliner; And 'twist his finger and his thumb he held "
A pouncet box, which ever and anon
CHA P. X XII.
Brak. W hy looks your grace so heavily to day,
Clar. O! I have pass'd a miserable night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
you tell me.
Tow'r, And was enı bark'd to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Glo'ster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd Enge
land, And cited up a thousand heavy times During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befallen us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main : Lord, Lord, methought what pain it was to drown What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon: Wedges of gold , great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels ; Some lay in dead men's sculls : and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To find the empty , vast, and wand'ring air ; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony? Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life: