Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE V.
Manet King Henry.
4 note
Upon the King! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children and
Our sins, lay on the King; he must bear all.
O hard condition, and twin-born with greatness,
Subject to breath of ev'ry fool, whose sense
No more can feel but his own wringing.
What infinite heart ease must King's neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings,
That private have not too, save ceremony?
Save gen'ral ceremony?—
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of God art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers?
5 note
What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
-- 442 --
O ceremony, shew me but thy worth,
What is thy soul, O adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flatt'ry? O be sick, great Greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Can'st thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a King's repose;
I am a King, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The 6 notefarsed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
-- 443 --
That beats upon the high shore of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
7 noteCan sleep so soundly as the wretched slave;
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread,
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lacquey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phœbus; and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And, but for ceremony; such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King.
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots,
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace;
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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