Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/62

If not sometimes o'erclouded, we grow weary
Of his officious glory.

Clarence.

Then you will give me leave to shine sometimes, My lord?

Lord.

Thou hast a gallant spirit, which I fear
Will be imposed on by the closer sort![Aside.
 

Clarence.

Well, I'll endeavour to take
Lord Percy's advice; I have been used so much
To dignity, that I'm sick on't.

Queen Philippa.

Fie, fie, Lord Clarence, you proceed not to business,
But speak of your own pleasures.
I hope their lordships will excuse your giddiness.
 

Clarence.

My lords, the French have fitted out many
Small ships of war, that like to ravening wolves,
Infest our English seas, devouring all
Our burden'd vessels, spoiling our naval flocks.
The merchants do complain, and beg our aid.