The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 07 by John Dryden
page 93 of 564 (16%)
page 93 of 564 (16%)
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And drew a sweeping fiery train along.--
O Paris, Paris, once my seat of triumph, But now the scene of all thy king's misfortunes; Ungrateful, perjured, and disloyal town, Which by my royal presence I have warmed So long, that now the serpent hisses out, And shakes his forked tongue at majesty, While I-- _Qu. M._ While you lose time in idle talk, And use no means for safety and prevention. _King._ What can I do? O mother, Abbot, Grillon! All dumb! nay, then 'tis plain, my cause is desperate. Such an overwhelming ill makes grief a fool, As if redress were past. _Gril._ I'll go to the next sheriff, And beg the first reversion of a rope: Dispatch is all my business; I'll hang for you. _Abb._ 'Tis not so bad, as vainly you surmise; Some space there is, some little space, some steps Betwixt our fate and us: our foes are powerful, But yet not armed, nor marshalled into order; Believe it, sir, the Guise will not attempt, Till he have rolled his snow-ball to a heap. _King._ So then, my lord, we're a day off from death: What shall to-morrow do? |
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