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With specious luftre lent but to betray.
You had it, Sir, and hold it from the people.

Edw. And therefore do I prize it; I wou'd guard
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine :
But when proud Faction, and her rebel crew
Insult their fov'reign, trample on his laws,
And bid defiance to his pow'r, the people,
In justice to themselves, will then defend
His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave.

WAR. Go to your darling people, then; for foon,
If I mistake not, 'twill be needful; try
Their boasted zeal, and fee if one of them
Will dare to lift his arm up in

your

cause, If I forbid them.

Edw. Is it so, my lord !
Then mark my words : I've been your slave too long,
And
you

have rul'd me with a rod of iron;
But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master,
And will be fo: the king, who delegates
His pow'r to other's hands, but ill deserves
The crown he wears.

WAR. Look well then to your own;
It fits but loosely on your head; for know,'
The man who injur'd Warwick, never pass'd
Unpunish'd yet.

Edw. Nor he who threaten'd Edward
You may repent it, Si-mx guards there seize
This traitor, and convey Kim to the Tow'r,
There let him learn obedience.

EARL OF WARWICK,

CHAP .

CHAP. XII.

ORLANDO AND ADAM.
ORLA. WHO's there?

ADAM.What! my young master? O my gentle master!
Oh, my sweet master ! O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what what makes you

here?
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their
graces

serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours.; your virtues, gentle master,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter ?

ADAM. O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :
Your brother- -(no; no brother; yet the son
Yet not the son ; I will not call him fon
Of him I was about to call his father)
Hath heard your praises, and this night-he means
To burn the lodging where you used to lie,
And
you

within it; if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices:
R6

This

This is no palace, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
ORLA. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orla. What would thou have me go and beg my food?
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievilh living on the common road?
This must I do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject me to the malice.
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

ADAM. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
Which I did store, to be my

fofter-nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown:
Take that; and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold,
All this I give you, let me be your servant;
'Though I look old, yet I am strong and lufty 3.
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frolly, but kindly; let me go with you ;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all
your

business and necessities. ORLA. Oh! good old man,

how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world ; When service sweat for duty, not for meed!

Thon

Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will fweat but for promotion ;
And having that do choke their service up
Even with the having; it is not so with thee;
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so mach as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow thee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty ;
From seventeen years till now, almost foarscore,,
Here liv'd I, bat now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,
But at fourscore, it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. XIII.

SCROOP AND RICHARD.
SCROOP. MORE health and happiness betide my liege,
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him !

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd;
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom loit? Why, 'twas, my care ;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care ?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God,

We'll

We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so.
Revolt our subjects ? That we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well assus. .
Cry wo, destruction, ruin, lofs, decay!
The worst is death, and death will have his day:

Scroor. Glad am I that your highness is fo arm’d
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the filver rivers drown their shores,.
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits (wells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
White heards have arm’d their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majefty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms, against thy crown.
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew, against thy state:
Yea, diftaff-women manage rusty bills.
Against thy seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell’It a tale so ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bufhy? where is Green?

-No matter where; of comfort no man speak.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth !
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo- -for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground:

Our

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