How different
were these noble knights and 'barons bold' from their more refined
descendants in the present day, who instead of deciding questions of
right by brute force, refer everything to convenience, fashion, and
good breeding! In point of any abstract love of truth or justice,
they are just the same now that they were then.
The characters of old John of Gaunt and of his brother York, uncles
to the King, the one stern and foreboding, the other honest, good-
natured, doing all for the best, and therefore doing nothing, are
well kept up. The speech of the former, in praise of England, is one
of the most eloquent that ever was penned. We should perhaps hardly
be disposed to feed the pampered egotism of our countrymen by
quoting this description, were it not that the conclusion of it
(which looks prophetic) may qualify any improper degree of
exultation.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered 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 happy lands:
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd for their breed and famous for their birth,
Renown'd 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.
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