Act. ii. Sc. V.
This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light ;
What time the shepherd,, blowing of his nails.,
Can neither call it perfect day,, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea.
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind :
New sways it that way, like the self same sea,
Forced to retire by the fury of the wind :
Now, one the better, then, another best ;
Some time, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror., nor conquered :
So is the equal, poise of this fell war.
Mere, en this molehill, will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory ;
For Margaret my queen and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence,
'Would I were dead I if God's good will were so ;
For what is in this world but grief and woe ?
O God ! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as T do now,
To carve out dials qvaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run,
How many make the hour full complete ;
How many hours bring about the day :
How many days will finish up the year ;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known,, then to divide the times :
So many hours must I tend my flock ;
So many hours must I take my rest ;'
So many hours must I contemplate ;'
So many hours must I sport myself ;
So many days my ewes have been with young ;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will can ;
So many years ere I shall shear the fltece : ' : 25
