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Hor. Do not, my lord.

2d Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Ham. Why, what should be the fear ?

Cæsar has had great wrong. I do not set my life at a pin's fee ;

3d Cit. Has he, masters! I fear there will a And, for my soul, what can it do to that,

worse come in his place. Being a thing immortal as itself ?

4th Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not It waves me forth again.-I'll follow it

take the crown; Hor. What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord ; Therefore, 'tis certain he was not ambitious. Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,

1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. That beetles o'er his base into the sea;

2d Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with And there assume some other horrible form,

weeping. Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 3d Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than And draw you into madness! Think of it.

Antony. The very place puts toys of desperation,

4th Cit. Now, mark him, he begins again to speak. Without more motive, into every brain,

Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might That looks so many fathoms to the sea,

Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, And hears it roar beneath.

And none so poor to do him reverence. Ham. It waves me still.-Go on, I'll follow thee. Oh, masters ! if I were dispos’d to stir Mar. You shall not go, my lord.

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, Ham. Hold off your hands.

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Mar. Be rul'd; you shall not go.

Who, you all know, are honourable men. Ham. My fate cries out,

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose And makes each petty artery in this body

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.

Than I will wrong such honourable men. Still am I call's. Unhand me, gentlemen

But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar:

[Breaking from them. I found it in his closet ; 'tis his will. . By hear'n, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me Let but the commons hear this testament I say, away! Go on-I'll follow thee.

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), Esceunt Ghost and Hamlet. And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds, Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Mar. Let's follow ! "Tis not fit thus to obey him. Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, Hor. Have after. To what issue will this come! And dying, mention it within their wills, Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Hor. Heaven will direct it.

Unto their issue. Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

[Esceunt. 4th Cit. We'll bear the will ; read it, Mark Antony.

All. The will ! the will! We will hear Cæsar's

will ! [Mark Antony over Cesar's Body.]

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends! I must not

read it; Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your It is not meet you know how Cæsar lor'd you. ears.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.

And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar, The evil that men do lives after them ;

It will inflame you, it will make you mad. The good is oft interred with their bones :

"Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; So let it be with Cæsar. Noble Brutus

For, if you should, Oh, what would come of it! Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious ;

4th Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony : If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

You shall read us the will ; Cæsar's will ! And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.

Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay a while ? Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest

I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. (For Brutus is an honourable man,

I fear I wrong the honourable men So are they all, all honourable men),

Whose daggers have stabb'd Cæsar. I do fear it. Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

4th Cit. They were traitors. Honourable men ! He was my friend, faithful and just to me;

AU. The will ! the testament ! Bat Brutus says he was ambitious ;

2d Cit. They were villains, murderers! The will ! And Brutus is an honourable man.

Read the will! He hath brought many captives home to Rome,

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.

Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious ?

And let me show you him that made the will. When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept ; Shall I descend? And will you give me leave ? Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

AU. Come down. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

2d Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the pulpit. And Brutus is an honourable man.

3d Cit. You shall have leave. You all did see that, on the Lupercal,

4th Cit. A ring! Stand round! I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

1st Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 2d Cit. Room for Antony-most noble Antony ! Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ;

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. And, sure, he is an honourable man.

AU. Stand back ! room ! bear back! I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ;

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all do know this mantle. I remember You all did love him once, not without cause :

The first time ever Cæsar put it on ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, Oh, judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

That day he overcame the Nervii. And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through ; My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,

See, what a rent the envious Casca made! And I must pause till it come back to me.

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; Ist Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, sayings.

Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!

As rushing out of doors, to be resolvid

Whereof by parcels she had something heard, If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no.

But not intentively. I did consent, For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel ;

And often did beguile her of her tears, Judge, Oh you gods ! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him. When I did speak of some distressful stroke This was the most unkindest cut of all ;

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs ; Ingratitude, inore strong than traitors' arms,

She swore-in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing Quite vanquish'd him ; then burst his mighty heart : strange, And, in his mantle muffing up his face,

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'l Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. That heaven had made her such a man :-she thank'd Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen !

me, Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.

I should but teach him how to tell my story Oh, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake; The dint of pity : these are gracious drops.

She lov’d me for the dangers I had passid,
Kind souls! What! weep you when you but behold And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded! Look you here !
Here is himself, marrd, as you see, with traitors.
1st Cit. O piteous spectacle !

[Queen Mab.)
2d Cit. O noble Cæsar !
3d Cit. O woful day!

o then, I see queen Mab hath been with you. 4th Cit. O traitors ! villains !

She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes 1st Cit. O most bloody sight!

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 2d Cit. We will be reveng'd ! Revenge ! About On the fore-finger of an alderman,

seek—burn--fire-kill-slay! Let not a trai- Drawn with a team of little atomies,
tor live!

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' lege ;

| The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; [Othello's Relation of his Courtship to the Senate.]

The traces, of the smallest spider's web; Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;

Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film ;
My very noble and approv'd good masters ;
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,

Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,

Not half so big as a round little worm,
It is most true ; true, I have married her ;
The very head and front of my offending

| Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

speech. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, And little blest with the soft phrase of peace ;

Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers, Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd

And in this state she gallops night by night, Their dearest action in the tented field:

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of lore; And little of this great world can I speak,

On courtiers' knees, that dream on courtsies straight; More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ;

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; And therefore shall I little grace my cause

O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, In speaking for myself. Yet by your gracious patience

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Of my whole course of love : what drugs, what charms,

Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, What conjuration, and what mighty magic

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal)

And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, I won his daughter with.

Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Her father lov'd me, oft invited me ;

Then dreams he of another benefice! Still question’d me the story of my life,

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes,

And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, That I have past.

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,

Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon To the very moment that he bade me tell it :

Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes; Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,

And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, Of moving accidents by flood and field ;

And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
Of hair-breadth 'scades i' th' imminent deadly breach :1 That plats the manes of horses in the night :
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. And portance in my travel's history.

Romeo and Julid. Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch

[End of All Earthly Glories.] heaven, It was my lot to speak, such was the process;

Our revels now are ended : these our actors, And of the cannibals that each other eat,

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
The anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Are melted into air, into thin air ;
Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
Would Desdemona seriously incline;

The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; She'd come again, and with a greedy ear

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Devour up my discourse : which I observing,

Leave not a rack behind! We are such stuff
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means As dreams are made on, and our little life
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,

Is rounded with a sleep.
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

The Tempest

[Life and Death Weighed.]

[Perseverance.] To be, or not to be, that is the question

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion,
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

| A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes :

Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd And, by opposing, end them! To dieto sleep

As fast as they are made, forgot as soon No more ; and by a sleep to say we end

As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks

Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang
That flesh is heir to !--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die-to sleep-

Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail,
To sleep!-perchance to dream !-ay, there's the rub;

In monumental mockery. Take the instant way,

UD: For honour travels in a strait so narrow, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

Where one but goes abreast : Keep, then, the path; When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

For Emulation hath a thousand sons, Must give us pause--there's the respect

That one by one pursue ; if you give way,
That makes calamity of so long life:

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,

And leave you hindmost.The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

Or, like a gallant horse, fall’n in first rank, The insolence of office, and the spurns

Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,

O’er-run and trampled on : then what they do in preWhen he himself might his quietus make

sent, With a bare bodkin Who would fardels bear,

Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours; To groan and sweat under a weary life,

For Time is like a fashionable host, But that the dread of something after death

That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, (That undiscover'd country from whose bourn

And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, No traveller returns) puzzles the will,

Grasps in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

And Farewell goes out sighing. 0! let not Virtue Than fly to others that we know not off ?

seek Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

Remuneration for the thing it was ; for beauty, And thus the native hue of resolution

wit, Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, And enterprises of great pith and moment,

Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
| With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

To envious and calumniating Time.
Hamlet.

Troilus and Cressida.

[Fear of Death.]

[The Deceit of Ornament or Appearances.] | Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. This sensible warm motion to become

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit

But being season'd with a gracious voice, To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside

Obscures the show of evil? In religion, In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ;

What damned error, but some sober brow To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

Will bless it, and approve it with a text, And blown with restless violence round about

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? The pendant world ; or to be worse than worst

There is no vice so simple, but assumes Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts

Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. Imagine howling : 'tis too horrible !

How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false The weariest and most loathed worldly life,

As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,

The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; Can lay on nature, is a paradise

Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ! To what we fear of death.

And these assume but valour's excrement,
Measure for Measure.

To render them redoubted. Look on beauty,

And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight, [Description of Ophelia's Drowning.]

Which therein works a miracle in nature, There is a willow grows ascant the brook,

Making them lightest that wear most of it. That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;

So are those crisped, snaky, golden locks, There with fantastic garlands did she make,

Which make such wanton gainbols with the wind Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples

Upon supposed fairness ; often known (That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,

To be the dowry of a second head,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them! | The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Thus ornament is but the gilded shore
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,

To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
When down her weedy trophies and herself

Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, | The seeming truth which cunning times put on And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up,

Tentrap the wisest : therefore, thou gaudy gold, Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,

Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : As one incapable of her own distress,

Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge Or like a creature native and indued

"Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre Unto that element ; but long it could not be,

lead, Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught, Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay

Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,
To muddy death.

And here choose I ; joy be the consequence.
Hamlet.

Merchant of Venice.

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
Mercy.]

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
The quality of mercy is not strain'd;

For his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Turning again towards childish treble, pipes Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed ;

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.

That ends this strange eventful history, 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : The throned monarch better than his crown:

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

As You Like Il. His sceptre shows the force of temporal pow'r, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.

[Description of Night in a Camp.] But mercy is above the sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;

From camp to caip, thro' the foul womb of night, It is an attribute to God himself;

The hum of either army stilly sounds, And earthly power doth then show likeet God's, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

The secret whispers of each other's watch. Though justice be thy plea, consider this

Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames, That, in the course of justice, none of us

Each battle sees the other's umber'd face. Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy;

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs, And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, The deeds of mercy.

The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
Merchant of Venice.

With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, [ Solitude preferred to a Court Life, and the Advantages

And the third hour of drowsy morning name. of Adversity.]

Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,

The confident and over-lusty French Hath not old custom made this life more sweet

For the low-rated English play at dice, Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods

| And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, More free from peril than the envious court?

| Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,

So tediously away. The poor condemned English, The season's difference; as the icy fang

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,

The morning's danger: and their gesture sad Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,

(Investing lank lean cheeks and war-worn coats) * This is no flattery;' these are counsellors

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon That feelingly persuade me what I am.

So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold Sweet are the uses of adversity,

The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head :

Let him cry praise and glory on his head ! And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

For forth he goes, and visits all his host, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. I would not change it!

Upon his royal face there is no note Amiens. Happy is your grace,

How dread an army hath enrounded him ; That can translate the stubbornness of fortune

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Into so quiet and so sweet a style !

Unto the weary and all-watched night;
As You Like It. But freshly looks, and overbears attaint,

With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ;

That ev'ry wretch, pining and pale before, [The World Compared to a Stage.]

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.

A largess universal, like the sun, Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy

His liberal eye doth give to every one, This wide and universal theatre

Thawing cold fear. Presents more woful pageants than the scene

Henry ! Wherein we play.

Jaquies. All the world 's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;

[The Blessings of a Shepherd's Life.]
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,

O God ! methinks it were a happy life His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,

To be no better than a homely swain :
Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms:

To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

How many make the hour full complete, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

How many hours bring about the day,
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, the soldier,

How many days will finish up the year,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, How many years a mortal man may live.
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel; When this is known, then to divide the times :
Seeking the bubble reputation

So many hours must I tend my flock;
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, So many hours must I take my rest;
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

So many hours must I contemplate; With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

So many hours must I sport myself ; Full of wise saws and modern instances ;

So many days my ewes have been with young ; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

you ?

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be Pass'd over, to the end they were created,

not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a 1. Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

shotten herring. There live not three good men unAh! what a life were this ! how sweet! how lovely! hanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows | Gires not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

old. God help the while !-a bad world, I say! I | To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

would I were a weaver ; I could sing all manner of | Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

songs. A plague of all cowards, I say still ! To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?

P. Henry. How now, wool-sack? — what mutter '' O yes, it doth, a thousandfold it doth. | And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy | His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,

subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Is far beyond a prince's delicates ;

Wales ! His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

P. Henry. Why, you whoreson round man !-what's His body couched in a curious bed,

the matter? When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Pal. Are you not a coward ?-answer me to that; Henry VI. and Poins there ?

[To Poins. P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward,

I'll stab thee. [The Vicissitudes of Life.]

Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damn'd ere

I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand So farewell to the little good you bear me.

pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness !

strait enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth

| your back. Call you that backing of your friends? The tender leaves of hope. to-morrow blossoms.

A plague upon such backing !-give me them that And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; will face me. Give me a cup of sack ; I am a rogue, i The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

if I drunk to-day. And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

P. Henry. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since | His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,

thou drunk'st last. And then he falls as I do. I have ventur'd,

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,

still say I!

[He drinks. These many summers in a sea of glory;

P. Henry. What's the matter? But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride

Pal. What's the matter?-here be four of us have At length broke under me; and now has left me, ta'en a thousand pound this morning. Weary and old with service, to the mercy

P. Henry. Where is it, Jack ?-where is it? Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Fal. Where is it?-taken from us it is: a hundred Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye !

upon poor four of us. I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched

P. Henry. What, a hundred, man! Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd by That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doubMore pangs and fears than wars or women have;

let, four through the hose, my buckler cut through And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

and through, my sword hacked like a hand-saw, ecce Never to hope again.

signum. I never dealt better since I was a man. All Henry VIII.

would not do. A plague of all cowards ! Let them

speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are [Falstaff's Cowardice and Boasting.]

villains, and the sons of darkness.

P. Henry. Speak, sirs. How was it? (Falstaff, who is represented as a monster of fat, a sensualist, Gads. We four set upon some dozenand a coward, yet is rendered tolerable by his humour, had Pal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. accompanied Prince Henry and some other dissolute companions Gads. And bound them. on a predatory expedition to Gad's Hill, where they first robbed

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. a few travellers, and afterwards the Prince and Poins set upon

Pal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of Falstaff and others of the party in the dark, and made them

them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. take to flight. The following scene takes place afterwards in

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh their favourite London haunt, the Boar's Head Tavern in East

men set upon uscheap.]

Pal. And unbound the rest, and then came in the TO PRINCE ILEXRY and Poins, enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL,

other. BARDOLPH, and PETO.

P. Henry. What! fought you with them all ?

Fal. All? I know not what you call all; but if I Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish;

Pal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven- if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor geance too ! marry, and amen! Give me a cupold Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll sow Poins. Pray heaven, you have not murdered some nether stocks, and inend them, and foot them too. of them. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, Pal. Nay, that's past praying for; I have peppered rogue. Is there no virtue extant ? [He drinks. two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two

P. Henry. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal-if butter - pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou sweet tale of the sun?-if thou didst, then behold that know'st my old ward ; here I lay, and thus I bore my compound.

point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at mePal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too. There P. Henry. What ! four ?-thou saidst but two even is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man.now. Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. in it-a villanous coward. Go thy ways, old Jack ;l Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.

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