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Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did fcowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God fave him!
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
But duft was thrown upon his facred head;
Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off,
(His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles,
The badges of his grief and patience)
That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, fteel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarifm itself have pitied him.
But Heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whofe high will we bound our calm contents.
EASON thus with life:
If I do lofe thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the fkiey influences,
That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet runn'ft tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not noble ;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'ft,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant ;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy beft of rest is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofsly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself;
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, `ftill thou ftriv'ft to get;
And what thou haft, förget'st. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects,
After the moon.
If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou haft none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee fire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,
Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,
For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth nor age;
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep;
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor bounty,
To make thy riches pleafant. 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.
С НА Р.
HOTSPUR's DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.
REMEMBER, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathlefs and faint, leaning upon my fword;
Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly dress'd;
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd,
Shew'd like a ftubble-land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
his nose; and took't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in fnuff. And still he smil'd, and talk'd;
And as the foldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a flovenly, unhandfome corfe
Betwixt the wind and his nobility,
With many holiday and lady terms
He queftioned me: amongst the reft demanded
My prifoners, in your majefty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with the wounds; being gall'd
To be fo pefter'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer'd, neglectingly, I know not what :
He fhould, or should not; for he made me mad,
To fee him shine fo brifk, and fmell fo fweet,
And talk fo like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God fave the mark) And telling me, the fovereign'ft thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruife;
And that it was great pity, fo it was,
This villainous falt-petre fhould be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
Then came wandring by
A shadow like an Angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud;
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjurd Clarence,
That stabbd me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!"
Published as the Act directs, by JJohnson in S.Pauls Church Yard, 1 Aug.1780.