Page:The poetical works of William Blake; a new and verbatim text from the manuscript engraved and letterpress originals (1905).djvu/69

 That never tarnishes: whether Third Edward, Or the Prince of Wales, or Montacute, or Mortimer, Or ev'n the least by birth, shall gain the brightest fame, Is in his hand to whom all men are equal. The world of men are like the num'rous stars That beam and twinkle in the depth of night, Each clad in glory according to his sphere; But we, that wander from our native seats And beam forth lustre on a darkling world, Grow larger as we advance: and some, perhaps The most obscure at home, that scarce were seen To twinkle in their sphere, may so advance That the astonish'd world, with uptum'd eyes, Regardless of the moon, and those that once were bright, Stand only for to gaze upon their splendor. Now let us take a just revenge for those Brave Lords, who fell beneath the bloody axe At Paris. Thanks, noble Harcourt, for 'twas By your advice we landed here in Brittany, A country not yet sown with destruction. And where the fiery whirlwind of swift war Has not yet swept its desolating wing. Into three parties we divide by day, And separate march, but join again at night; Each knows his rank, and Heav'n marshal all.

SCENE, English Court. Lionel, Duke of Clarence; Queen Philippa; Lords; Bishop; &c.

Clarence. My Lords, I have by the advice of her Whom I am doubly bound to obey, my Parent And my Sovereign, call'd you together. My task is great, my burden heavier than My unfledg'd years; Yet, with your kind assistance. Lords, I hope England shall dwell in peace; that, while my father Toils in his wars, and turns his eyes on this His native shore, and sees commerce fly round With his white wings, and sees his golden London And her silver Thames, throng'd with shining spires And corded ships, her merchants buzzing round Like summer bees, and all the golden cities In his land overflowing with honey, Glory may not be dimm'd with clouds of care. Say, Lords, should not our thoughts be first to commerce? My Lord Bishop, you would recommend us agriculture?

Bishop. Sweet Prince, the arts of peace are great, And no less glorious than those of war,