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Renowned for their deeds as far from home, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,)

As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,

Of the word's ransom, blessed Mary's Son:

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,

Dear for her reputation through the world,

Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm:

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
O, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!

λαβόντες αἵματός τε καὶ γένους χάριν,
εἶτ ̓ ἐν βροτοῖς πρέπουσι, δωμάτων πρόσω,
σπουδῆς τε θείας εὐγενοῦς τ ̓ εὐψυχίας
ἕκατι τιμηθέντες, ἔνθ ̓ ὑπὲρ βροτῶν
θανὼν ἐν Ἑβραίοισιν, αὐθάδει λεῷ,
Μαρίας ὁ θεῖος υἱὸς εὔληχεν τάφον.
καίτοι φίλη περ οὖσα φιλτάτας τε γῆ
ψυχὰς τρέφουσα καὶ καλὴν καρπουμένη
δόξαν παρ ̓ ἀνθρώποισιν, ἀλλ ̓ ὅμως τὰ νῦν
(λέγω δ ̓ ἐν ἐκπνοαῖσι θανασίμοις βίου)
ἐξημπόληται, πῶς δοκεῖς, ἀλιγκία
γύαισιν ἢ φαύλοισιν οἰκητηρίοις·
ἥτις προτοῦ μεν παγκρατεῖ κλυδωνίῳ
ξυνείχετ', ἀκτὴ δ ̓ εἰσβολὴν ἐπίφθονον
κραταιλέως ἠμύνετ ̓ ἐναλίου θεοῦ·

νῦν δ ̓ αὖ ξυνέχεται χθὼν ἀτιμίας ὕπο,
κηλῖσι κηρίναισι καὶ ξυνθημάτων
σαθραῖσι δέλτοις· ἡ δὲ δεῦρ ̓ ἀεὶ βροτοὺς
φιλοῦσα νικᾶν νῦν νενίκηται κακῶς
αὐτὴ πρὸς αὐτῆς· εἰ δὲ τοὔνειδος τόδε
φροῦδόν ποτ ̓ ἔσται ξυμμέτρως τῷ ̓μῷ βίῳ,
εὔθυμος ἤδη τλήσομαι τὸ κατθανείν.

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E

KING LEAR. ACT 3. Sc. 2.

BLOW, winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout,

Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world;
Crack Nature's moulds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!-

Rumble thy belly-full! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, called you children;
You owe me no subscription: why then, let fall
Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man :
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters joined
Your high-engendered battles, 'gainst a head

So old and white as this! 0, 0, 'tis foul!

Οὐκ εἶα, πνεύματ', ἀγρίου φυσήματος
φείσεσθε μηδὲν, μὴ οὐ διαῤῥῆξαι γνάθους;
στρόμβοι ζάλαι τε, δυσχίμῳ πλημμυρίδι
αὐτοῖσι ναοὺς ἀετοῖς ποντίζετε

ἴτ', αἰθαλοῦσσαι φροντίδος ξυμπράκτορες
πρόδρομοι κεραυνῶν λαμπάδες δρυηκόπων,
πολιὸν τόδ ̓ ἀμὸν κρᾶτα πρήθοιτ ̓ ἄν· σὺ δὲ,
βροντὴ τινάκτειρ ̓, εὐκύκλου σφυρηλάτει
παχὺν πόλον γῆς, καὶ φύσεως τυπώματα
διαρταμήσασ ̓ ἔκχεον βλαστήματα
ὅσ ̓ ἐξέφυσ ̓ ἄπιστον ἀνθρώπων γένος.
μεστὴ γενοῦ βρέμουσ'· ἐπίῤῥηξον δὲ, πῦρ,
κάχλαζε δ', ὄμβρε· πῦρ γὰρ οὔτε πνεύματα
οὐκ ὄμβρον οὐ βροντήματ ̓ ἐκφύσας ἔχω·
ὑμῶν κατέγνων οὔποτ ̓, οὔκ, ἀπιστίαν·
τυραννίδ ̓ οὔποτ ̓ εἰσεχείρισ ̓· οὐ τέκνοις
ὑμᾶς ἴσ ̓ ἀντηύδων ποτ ̓· οὐδὲ τοἔμπαλιν
ὑπουργίαν ἐμοί τιν ̓ ἀντοφείλετε.
πρὸς ταῦτ ̓ ἐπισκήπτοντες ἐμπλήσθητέ μοι
τὰ δεινά· δοῦλοι δ ̓ ἐνθάδ' ὑμὶν ἕσταμεν,
γέρων ἄναρθρος, ἄμορος, ήτιμασμένος·
καίτοι κικλήσκω δουλίους ὑπηρέτας,
οἳ ξὺν κακούργῳ παρθένων ξυνωρίδι
ξυναρμόσαντες ὑψιγεννήτους μάχας
τοῦ τηλικοῦδε κρᾶτα λευκανθες τόδε

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ὑβρίζετ ̓ αἰσχρῶς· πῶς γὰρ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν τόδ ̓ ἦν;

v. 4. Aristoph. Ανν. 1032. v. 12. Soph. (Ed. Col. 768. v. 17. Soph. El. 1478.

τας γὰρ ὑμῶν οἰκίας ἐρέψομεν πρὸς ἀετόν. ἀλλ ̓ ἡνίκ ̓ ἤδη μεστὸς ἦν θυμούμενος. ζώντας θανούσιν οἵνεκ ̓ ἀνταυδᾷς ἴσα.

Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,

Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,

Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue
That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practised on man's life! Close-pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against than sinning.

[1838.

KING HENRY V. ACT 4.

Now entertain conjecture of a time,

When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,

Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other's watch:

Fire answers fire: and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face:

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs

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