Surely this, too, is worthy of Shakspere. And so is Northumberland’s soliloquy with which the third Act opens; so much so, indeed, that we can with difficulty persuade ourselves we are not reading Shakspere.
“I have plunged too deep. The current of the times
Hath been ill-sounded. Frosty discontent
Breathes chilly in the face of our attempt:
And, like the dry leaves in November winds,
These summer-suited friends fly my nipped branches.
What’s to be done? Time like a ruthless hunter,
Tramples my flying footsteps! Banned and baited
By my own pack, dogs fed from mine own hand
Gnash fangs and snarl on me.”