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him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who's here so base, that would be a bond-man? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended--I pause for a reply.

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None ?--then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is inrolled in the Capitol ? his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences inforced, for which he suffered death.-

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

SHAKESPEARE.

CHAP. XIV.

Gloucester's Speech to the Nobles. BRAVE Peers of England, pillars of the state,

To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
His valour, coin, and people in the wars;
Did he so often lodge in open field;

In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat
Το
conquer France, his true inheritance?
And did my brother Betford toil his wits

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To keep by policy what Henry got?

Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
Brave York, and Salisbury, victorious Warwick,
Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?
Or bath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself,
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, sat in the council-house
Early and late, debating to and fro,

How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe
And was his Highness in his infancy
Cro ned in Paris, in despite of foes?

And shall these labours and these honours die ?
Shali Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
Your deeds of war, and all our council, die?
O Peers of England, shameful is this league,
Fatal this marriage; cancelling your fame,
Blotting your names from books of memory
Razing the characters of your renown,
Defacing monuments of conquered France,
Undoing all, as all had never been.

SHAKESPEARE.

1

BOOK V I.

DIALOGUES.

CHA P. I.

On Happiness.

Ir was at a time, when a certain friend

whom I highly value, was my guest. We had been sitting together, entertaining ourselves with Shakespeare. Among many of his characters, we had looked into that of Wolsey. How soon, says my friend, does the Cardinal in disgrace abjure that Happiness which he was so lately fond of ? Scarcely out of office, but he begins to exclaim,

Vain pomp and glory of the world! I hate ye. So true is it,that our sentiments ever vary with the season; and that in adversity we are of one mind, in prosperity of another. As for his mean opinion, said I, of human happiness, it is a truth, which small reflection might have taught him long before. There seems little need of distress to inform us of this. I rather commend the seeming wisdom of that eastern monarch, who, in the affluence of prosperity, when he was proving every pleasure, was yet so sensible of their emptiness, their insufficiency to make him happy, that he proclaimed a reward to the man, who should invent a new delight. The reward indeed was proclaimed, but the delight was not to be found. If by delight, said he, you mean some good; something conducing to real happiness; it might have been

fouud perhaps, and yet not hit the monarch's fancy. Is that, said I possible? It is possible, replied he, though it had been the sovereign good itself. And indeed what wonder? Is it probable that such a mortal as an eastern monarch; such a pampered, flattered, idle mortal, should have attention, or capacity for a subject so delicate? A subject, enough to exercise the subtlest and most accute?

What then is it you esteem, said I, the sovereign good to be? It should seem, by your representation, to be something very uncommon. Ask me not the question, said be, you know not where it will carry us. Its general idea indeed is easy and plain; but the detail of particulars is perplexed and long; passions and opinions for ever thwart us; a paradox appears in almost every advance. Besides, did our enquiries succeed ever so happily, the very subject itself it atways enough to give me pain. That replied I, seems a paradox indeed. It is not, said he from any prejudice, which I have conceived against it; for to man I esteem it the noblest in the world. Nor is it for being a subject, to which my genius does not lead me; for no subject at all times has more employed my attention. But the truth is, I can scarce ever think of it, but an unlucky story still oc

curs to my mind. A certain star-gazer, with

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» his telescope was once viewing the moon; » and describing her seas, her mountains, and > her territories. Says a clown to his compa»nion, Let him spy what he pleases; we are >> as near to the moon as he and all his bre>> thren ». So fares it, alas! with these our moral speculations. Practice too often creeps, where theory can soar. The philosopher proves

177 as weak, as those whom he most contemns. Á mortifying thought to such as well attend it. Too mortifying, replied I, to be long dwelt on. Give us rather your general idea of the sovereign good. This is easy from your own account, however intricate the detail.

Thus then, said he, since you are so urgent, it is thus that I conceive it. The Sovereign Good is that, the possession of which renders us happy. And how, said I, do we possess it? Is it sensual, or intellectual? There you are entering, said he, upon the detail. This is be→ yond your question. Not a small advance, said I, to indulge poor curiosity? Will you raise me a thirst, and be so cruel not to allay it? It is not, replied he, of my raising, but your own. Besides I am not certain, should I attempt to proceed, whether you will admit such au→ thorities as it is possible I may vouch. That, said I, must be determined by their weight and character. Suppose, said he, it should be mankind; the whole human race. Would you not think it something strange, to seek of those concerning Good, who pursue it a thousand ways, and many of them contradictory ? I confess, said I, it seems so. And yet continued he, were there a point, in which such dissentients ever agreed, this agreement would be no mean argument in favour of its truth and justness. But where, replied I, is this agreement to be found?

He answered me by asking, what if it should appear, that there were certain original characteristics and pre-conceptions of good, which were natural, uniform and common to all men; which all recognized in their various pursuits; and that the difference lay only in the apply

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