Page images
PDF
EPUB

This prison, where I live, unto the world:
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it;-Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
My soul, the father: and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world;
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort, -
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself

Against the word:9

8

As thus, Come, little ones; and then again, -
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, -
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,-
That many have, and others must sit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king;

people this little world;] i. e. his own frame;-" the state of man;" which in our author's Julius Cæsar is said to be "like to a little kingdom." the word itself

9

Against the word:] By the word, probably, is meant, the holy word.

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: Then crushing penury

Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing: -But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing.-Musick do I hear? [Musick.
Ha, ha! keep time: -How sour sweet musick is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the musick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,'
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,

For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:

My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar

Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, &c.] It should be recollected, that there are three ways in which a clock notices the progress of time; viz. by the libration of the pendulum, the index on the dial, and the striking of the hour. Το these, the King, in his comparison, severally alludes; his sighs corresponding to the jarring of the pendulum, which, at the same time that it watches or numbers the seconds, marks also their progress in minutes on the dial or outward-watch, to which the King compares his eyes; and their want of figures is supplied by a succession of tears, or, (to use an expression of Milton,) minute drops: his finger, by as regularly wiping these away, performs the office of the dial's point:-his clamorous groans are the sounds that tell the hour.

[merged small][merged small][graphic][subsumed][merged small][subsumed]

Richard. Iwasted Time and now doth Time waste me. For now hath Time made me his numbring clock.

Publish'd by F. & C. Rivington, London. Aug. 15.1803.

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

4

2

Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours:-but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This musick mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

Enter Groom.

Groom. Hail, royal prince!

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes master's face.* O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle

friend, How went he under him?

- his Jack o'the clock.] That is, I strike for him. One

of these automatons is alluded to in King Richard III.

3 Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.] i. e. is as strange and uncommon as a brooch which is now no longer worn.

4

sometimes master's face.] Sometimes was used for formerly, as well as sometime, which the modern editors have substituted.

« PreviousContinue »