This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise, This fortress built by Nature This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renownèd for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry As is the sepulcher in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son-- This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world . . . —John of Gaunt, deathbed speech
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings; How some have been deposed; some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence: throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king? —Richard II...more
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances andCanst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown....more
When a witless young man and his witty pet raven get swept into the furor of the Gordon "no-Popery" riots in the London of 1780, you can be sure you'rWhen a witless young man and his witty pet raven get swept into the furor of the Gordon "no-Popery" riots in the London of 1780, you can be sure you're reading Dickens. This is his first historical novel, and I can see how it leads the way to the other one, _A Tale of Two Cities_. Grip, the raven, caught the attention of Edgar Alan Poe and probably inspired his poem "The Raven." I suspect that _Barnaby Rudge_ also inspired Poe's "The Bells."...more
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