To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven :
On earth join all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise 20
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou
fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fliest,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wandering fires, that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 35
In honour to the world's Great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls: ye birds,
That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, Universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Hath gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
LAID in my quiet bed,
In study as I were,
I saw within my troubled head,
A heap of thoughts appear.
And every thought did show
That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled,
As cause of thoughts did rise.
In thought how oft that he
Did wish of God, to scape the rod,
A tall young man to be.
Whereat full oft I smiled,
To see how all these three,
from man to boy,
Would chop and change degree.
HOWARD EARL SURREY.
SCENE III.-Plains near Angiers.1
K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle
We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say, but let it go :
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
To give me audience: if the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
1 In this scene King John is represented as suggesting to Hubert de Burgh, his chamberlain, the murder of his nephew Prince Arthur, the rightful heir to the throne, whom he had taken prisoner in France.
And thou possessèd with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, Melancholy,
Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy-thick, 25
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, Laughter, keep men's eyes
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes;
Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.
K. John. Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way;
Do not I know thou wouldst?
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me : dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I'll keep him so,
That he shall not offend your majesty.
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.
SCENE I.-A room in a castle.1
Enter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS.
Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou
Within the arras; when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair; be heedful; hence, and watch.
First Exec. I hope your warrant will bear out the
deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you; look to't. [Exeunt EXECUTIONERS. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince, having so great a title To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Methinks nobody should be sad but I :
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long ;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me;
He is afraid of me, and I of him :
Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
In this scene, in which the young Prince Arthur appears as a prisoner, Hubert is represented as being about to put out the prince's eyes with red-hot irons. But he is turned from his purpose by the prince's touching entreaties.
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