My conscience, thou art fetter'd
More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever!
My conscience, thou art fetter'd
More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever!
This respite shook
The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
The region of my breast, which forc'd such way
That many maz'd considerings did throng
And press'd in with this caution.
Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man
in his bed- wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so,
death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly
lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes
it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He
let him outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach
others how they should prepare.
Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,
what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is; I hope
your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will
avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your Majesty
is give me; in your conscience, now.
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Faith, some certain dregs of conscience
are yet within me.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.
I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities A still and quiet conscience.
No want of conscience hold it that I call,
Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.
You that have so fair parts of woman on you
Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,
Saving your mincing, the capacity
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive
If you might please to stretch it.
For, now he has crack'd the league
Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew,
He dives into the King's soul and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;
And out of all these to restore the King,
He counsels a divorce, a loss of her
That like a jewel has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
Of her that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought,
My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king
Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories