FALCO PEREGRINUS. Ill 



He also says — 



" And I have loved this proud, disdainful haggard" 



But the want of sleep, which tames the bird, would make the 

 man insane. For Shakespeare truly calls it the " great restorer," 

 the " great physician," sleep — 



"The innocent sleep ; 

 Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care ; 

 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath ; 

 Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course ; 

 Chief nourisher in life's feast." 



The peregrine is perhaps the most courageous of all our birds. 

 It will attack even the golden eagle if near its nest. A pair will 

 drive the king of birds away. But I have seen a pair of missel 

 thrushes attack a sparrow-hawk ; and, for that part of it, this 

 pugnacious thrush would attack the peregrine if near its nest ; 

 for a female missel thrush once coolly left her nest and eggs 

 and dashed herself against my own face, when climbing up a tall 

 poplar to its nest. And even here is Shakespeare true to 

 Nature, for he makes Clifford say to over-pious King Henry VI. — ■ 



" My gracious liege, this too much lenity 

 And harmful pity must be laid aside. 

 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? 

 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 

 Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? 

 Not his that spoils her young before her face. 

 Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting ? 

 Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 

 The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, 

 And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 

 Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 

 And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 

 Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 

 Who hath not seen them (even with those wings 

 Which sometimes they have used with fearful flight) 

 Make war with him that climb" d unto their nest, 

 Offering their own lives in their young's defence ? 

 For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ! " 



He also makes Lady Macduff say to her son and Kosse, after 

 Macduff's flight— 



" What had he done to make him fly the land ? 

 His flight was madness. When our actions do not, 

 Our fears do make us traitors. He loves us not ; 

 He wants the natural touch ; for the poor wren, 

 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 

 Her young ones in the nest, against the owl. 

 All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; 

 As little is the wisdom, where the flight, 

 So runs against all reason." 



