Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings.
Peace peace Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep.
Alack, or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country.
O sleep O gentle sleep Natures soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness Why, rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumd chambers of the great, Under canopies of costly state, And lulld with sound of sweetest melody.
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,
That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!
All this I know, and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy; and if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.
Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, dim register and notary of shame, black stage for tragedies and murders fell, vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame
This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son;
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it-
Like to a tenement or pelting farm.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories