SAMUEL SIMPSON,ESQ . OF STRETFORD,

NEAR MANCHESTER,

TH I S VOLUM E OF EX TRA CT S

FROM THE W ORKS OF S HAKS P ERE

I S D ED I CATED

B Y H I S SINCERE FR IEND

THE COM P ILER.

P RE FA C E .

WHILST numerous selections from Shakspere

have been published, it is to be feared that,for

the most part, they contain many passages which

it is scarcely expedient to place before youthful

readers . One object of this compilation is to

present a book special ly adapted to the youth

of both sexes for use in scholastic and family

circles , which, whilst embodying the most promi

nent beauties , exc ludes eve rything which may be

deemed objectionable by the most fastidious per

sons . Another aim of the Compiler has been to

make the book one which it is believed cannot

fail to impart to its readers some knowledge of

P reface.

Shakspere’

s works general ly; thus , extracts from

every p lay have been included, varying in length

according to its interest and popularity, and at the

commencement of each play a short account of

the p lot or fable is given.

The communications which the Compiler has

received from the principals of high-class educa

tional establishments in various parts of the king

dom,on the desirability of imparting Shaksperean

knowledge to their pupils , prove conclusively that

some acquaintance with the undying works of

Shakspere is by many instructors deemed a desi

deratum,if not a necessity.

CONT ENT S .

—000

The T empestTwelfth NightTwo G ent lemen ofVeronaW inter

’

s T aleHamlet

Julius CaesarK ingLearMacbethT imon ofA thensT itus A ndronicusT roilus and CressidaCoriolanus

A ntony and CleopatraT he M erchant ofVen iceA M idsummer-Night

’

s Dream

Much Ado About NothingTaming of the ShrewAll

’

s W ell that Ends W el l

A s Y ou Like I t

Comedy ofErrors

Love’

s Labour’

s Lost

M easure for M easure

CymbelineO thelloRomeo and JulietK ingJohnK ingRichard I I .

K ingHenry IV . ,Part I .

K ingHenry IV .

, Part II .

K ingHenry V .

K ingHenry VI . , Part 1 .

K ingHenry VI ., Part II .

K ingHenry VI .,Part III .

K ingRichard III .

K ingHenry VIII .

Pericles, Prince ofTyreThe M erryW ives ofW indsor

INDEX

TEM PE ST.

Prospero, the rightful Duke of M ilan, is cheated out of his

dukedom by the intrigues of his brother Antonio,and is sent to

sea with his infant daughter M iranda ; in the frail boat in which

they are embarked they reach an island, where, educated by her

father,M iranda grows to womanhood. Prospero, who is a magi

cian,with the help of A ri ,

a familiar spirit, causes the king ofNaples

,with his son Ferdinand, and A ntonio, the usurping bro

ther, to be shipwrecked on the island. Ferdinand encounters

M iranda, fal ls in love with her, and is accepted as her future hus

band. The play concludes wi th the resolution of Prospero to

abandon magic and revisit his dukedom. The chief characters in

the p lay are Prospero, the rightful Duke ; Antonio, his usurpingbrother ; A lonso, King of Naples ; Ferdinand, his son ; Ariel

,

an airy Spirit ; Caliban, a savage and deformed slave ; Gonzalo, anhonest old counsel lor ofNaples, andM iranda, daughter ofProspero

ACT I .

Ariel’

s Description qfM anagmg the Storm.

I BOARDED the king ’s ship now on the beak,Now in the waist , the deck, in every cabin ,I flamed amazement ; sometimes I ’d divide,ad burn in many places ; on the top

-mast,The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,Then meet, and join Jove

’s l ightnings, the precursors

B

2 Tempes t.

O’the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary

A nd sight outrunning were not : the fire, and cracksOf sulphur-Gus roaring, the most mighty NeptuneSeem’

d to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,Yea, his dread trident shake .

Not a soulBut felt a fever of the mad, and play

’d

Some tricks of desperation al l but marinersPlung

’

d in the foaming brine,and quit the vessel ,

Then all afire with me : the king’s son, Ferdinand,With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair),Was the first man that leap

’d.

Ca liban’s Curses .

CALIBAN. A s wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d

With raven feather from unwholesome fen,Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye,And bl ister you all o

’er !

PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt havecramps,

Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins"

Shall , for that vast of night that they may work,A ll exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch

’d

A s thick as honeycombs, each pinch more stingingThan bees that made them.

CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner.This island ’

s mine,by Sycorax my mother,

Which thou takest from me . When thou camest firstThou strokedst me, and madest much of me wouldst

give meWater with berries in’

t : and teach me howTo name the bigger light, and how the less,That burn by day and night and then I lov’d thee ,

Imps. fairies.

Tempes z‘

. 3

And shew’d thee all the qualities 0 ’ the isle,

The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertileCursed be I that did so l— A ll the charmsOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, l ight on you'For I am all the subjects that you have,Wh ich first was mine own king and here you

sty me

In this hard rock, whiles you do keep frommeThe rest of the island.

M arie.

Where should this music be ? i’ the air,

earthIt sounds no more : and sure it waits uponSome god of the island. S itting on a bank,Weeping again the king my father

’s wreck,

This music crept by me upon the waters :A llaying both their fury and my passion,With its sweet air.

Ariel’

s Song.

Ful l fathom five thy father lies ;Of his bones are coral made ;

Those are pearls, that were his eyes ;Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea changeIn to something rich and strange .Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knellH ark ! now I hear them,

—ding -dong, bell.

1 4 Lover’

s Speed) .

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.

My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,

The wreck of all my friends, or this man’s threats.

4 Temp es t.

To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,Might I but through my prison once a dayBehold this maid : all corners else 0 ’ the earthLet liberty make use of : space enoughHave I in such a prison .

ACT II .

Description of Ferdinand’s Swimming as/Jore.

I saw him beat the surges under him,

And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water,Whose enmity he flung aside, and breastedThe surge most swoln that met him his bold head’Bove the contentious waves he kept , and oar’dHimselfwith his good arms in lusty strokeTo the shore, that o’erhis wave-worn basis how

’d,A s stooping to rel ieve him : I not doubtHe came alive to land.

Do not omit the heavy offer of itIt seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth ,It is a comforter.

Ca liban’

s Curses .

All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flat s, on Prosper fall, and make himBy inch-meal a disease ! H is spirits hear me,And yet I needs must curse. But they’l l nor pinch ,Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i’ the mire,Nor lead me l ike a fire—brand in the darkOut ofmy way, unless he bid them but

For every trifle are they set upon meSometimes like apes, that and chatter at me,

To make faces

Temp es t. 5

And after, bi te me ; then like hedge-hogs,'

which

Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mountTheir pricks at my footfall sometimes am IAll wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues,Do hiss me into madness.

Satire on Englis/a Curios ity.

What have we here ? a man or a fish ? Dead oralive ? A fish ; he smells like a fish ; a very ancientand fish-like smell a kind of, not of the newest, PoorJohn. A strange fish ! Were 1 in England now (asonce I was ) , and had but this fish painted, not a hol iday fool there but would give a piece of silver therewould this monster make a man ; any strange beastthere makes a man when they will not give a doit torelieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a deadIndian .

Ca lioan’s P romises .

I ’ll shew thee the best springs I ’l l pluckberries ;

I ’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough .

A plague upon the tyrant that I serve !I ’l l hear him no more sticks, but follow thee,Thouwondrous man.

I pr’ythee, let me bring thee where crabs growA nd I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts

Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee howTo snare the nimble marmoz et ; I ’l l bring theeTo clustering filberds, and sometimes I ’ll get theeYoung sea-mel ls* from the rock.

l l“The sea-mel l is pronounced by some commentators to be a

species of sea gul l . In the original text the word is scamels .

"

6 Tempes t.

ACT III .

Ferdinand and J'Jz'

randa . Prospero at a distance.

MIRANDA. A las, now ! pray you,W ork not so hard : I would the l ightning hadBurnt up those logs, that you are enjoin

’d to pile !

Pray, set it down , and rest you : when this burns,’Twil l weep for having wearied you. My fatherIs hard at study pray now, rest yourself ;He

’s safe for these three hours.

FERDINAND. 0 most dear mistress,The sun will set, before I shall dischargeWhat I must strive to do .MIRANDA. If youwill sit down

I’ l l bear your logs the while : pray give me that ;I ’l l carry it to the pile.FERDINAND. No, prec ious creature ;

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,Than you should such dishonour undergo,While I sit lazy by.MIRANDA. It would become me

A s well as it does you : and I should do itW ith much more ease ; for my good will is to it,And yours against.PROSPERO. Poor worm thou art infected ;

This visitation shews it.MIRANDA. You look wearily.FERDINAND. No, noble mistress ; ’

tis fresh morningwith me

When you are by at n ight . I do beseech you

(Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers) ,W hat is your nameMIRANDA. Miranda — O my father,

I have broke your hest” to say so

Disobeyed her father’s injunctions .

Tempes t.

FERDINAND. A dmired Miranda !Indeed the top ofadmiration worthWhat’s dearest to the world ! Full many a ladyI have eyed with best regard ; and many a timeThe harmony of their tongues hath into bondageBrought my too diligent ear : for several virtuesHave I l iked several women never anyW ith so full soul, but some defec t in herD id quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,*A nd put it to the foil But you, 0 you,

So perfect, and so peerless, are createdOf every creature ’s best.MIRANDA. I do not know

One ofmy sex no woman’s face remember,

Save, from my glass, mine own nor have I seenMore that I may call men, than you, good friend,And my dear father : how features are abroad,I am skill less of ; but, by mymodesty,(The jewel In my dower ) I would not wishAny companion in the world but youNor can imagination form a shape,Besides yourself, to l ike of : but I prattleSomething too wildly, and my father

’s precepts

Therein forget.FERDINAND. I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ;( I would, not so 1) and would no more endureTh is wooden slavery, than I would sufferThe flesh-fly blow mymouth — Hear my soul speak ;—The very

\ instant that I saw you, didMy heart fly to your service ; there resides,To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake,Am I this patient log-man.

Owned.

8 Tempes t.

MIRANDA. Do you love meFERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to

sound,And crown what I profess with kind event,If I speak true ; if hollowly, invertW hat best is boded me, to mischief! I,Beyond all l imit ofwhat else i’ the world,Do love, prize, honour you.

MIRANDA. I am a fool ,To weep at what I am glad of.

A Guilty Conscience.

0 , it is monstrous ! monstrous !Methought the billows spoke and told me of it

The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder,That deep and dreadful organ pipe, pronouncedThe name ofProsper.

A CT IV.

Vanity of Human Nature.

These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits, andA re mel ted into air, into thin aIrAnd, l ike the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-capp

’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples , the great globe itself ;Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve ;A nd , like th is insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack"‘ behind. W e are such stuffA s dreams are made on, and our l ittle lifeIs rounded with a sleep .

Rae/e refers to the clouds when in motion ; some critics

suppose that track was the original word used.

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I o Temp es t.

The pine and cedar : graves at my commandHave waked their sleepers ope’d and let themBy my so potent art but this rough magicI here abjure : and, when I have requir

’d

Some heavenly music (which even now I do)To work mine end upon their senses, thatThis airy charm is for, I ’ll break my staff,Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,And deeper than did ever plummet sound,I ’l l drown my book .

Senses returning.

The charm dissolves apace,And as the morning steals upon the n ight,Melting the darkness, so their rising sensesBegin to Chase the ignorant fumes that mantleTheir clearer reason.

—O my good Gonz alo,My t rue preserver, and a loyal sirTo him thou follow’

st : I will pay thy gracesHome, both in word and deed — Most cruellyDidst thou, A lonso, use me and my daughter ;Thy brother was a furtherer in the act

Thou’rt pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian . Flesh andblood,

You brother mine, that entertain’d ambition ,

Expell’

d and nature ; who, with Sebastian(Whose inward pinches are most strong ) ,Would here have kill ’d our king : 1 do forgive thee,Unnatural though thou art ! Their understandingBegins to swell and the approaching tideWil l shortly fill the reasonable shores,That now lie foul and muddy . Not one of themThat yet looks on me, or would know me.

‘f' Used here in the sense of compassion.

Tw at/i N i

'

g/i t. n

Ariel’s S071g.

Where the bee sucks, there suck IIn a cowsl ip’s bell I lie ;There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat’s back I do fly,

After summer, merrilyMerrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the

-000‘

TWELFTH NIGHT.

Orsino, Duke of Il lyria, is a suitor for the hand ofO livia, a

rich countess. Sebastian and Viola, who are twin brother and

sister, have been shipwrecked, but are saved ; Viola, however,misses her brother in the wreck, and, bel ieving h im to be drowned,

dresses herself in male attire, and, assuming the name of Cesario,enters the service of Orsino, of whom she becomes enamoured.

O livia rejects the proffered hand ofOrsino, and fal ls passionately In

love with V iola, believing her, from her costume, to be a man .

Eventual ly Sebastian reaches Il lyria, and his exact l ikeness‘

to his

twin sister occasions numerous amusing mistakes . In the end

Orsino is accepted byViola as her husband, and Sebastian by O li

via. The p lay is enl ivened by a number of comic incidents, in

which M alvol io (O l ivia’

s steward ) , S irT obyBe lch (her uncle ) , andSir Andrew Aguecheek, are the chief actors .

A CT I.

Musie.

Ir music be the food of love, play on,G ive me excess of it ; that, surfeiting,

I a TwetfmN z’

g/zt.

The appetite may sicken and so die,

That strain again it had a dying fall0 , it came o’er my ear l ike the sweet south,That breathes upon a bank of viole ts,Steal ing, and giving odour.

Escapefrom Shipwreck.

I saw your brother,Most provident in peril, bind himself(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)To a strong mast that l ived upon the sea ;

W here, l ike A rion on the dolphin’3 back,I

.

saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,So long as I could see.

Description of a Beautiful B oy.

Dear lad, believe It ;For they shal l yet belie thy happy yearsThat say, thou art a man : D iana’s lipIs not more smooth and rubious ; thy smal l pipeIs, as the maiden’

s organ , shrill and sound ,And all is semblative a woman’s part .

A CT II.

D isguise.

D isguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,W here in the pregnant enemy does much.

How easy is it for the proper false*

In women’s waxen hearts to set their formsA las, our frailty is the cause, not we ;For, such as we are made of, such we be.

Proper is here used to signify lzandsome.

Tweift/t N ig/zt. I 3

True Love.

Come hither, boy if ever thou shalt love,In the sweet pangs of it remember meFor, such as I am, all true lovers are ;Unstaid and skittish in all motion el se,

Save in the constant image of the creatureThat is beloved .

Tbe Wife s/yould 5c Tounger t/yan tbe Husband.

Let still the woman takeAn elder than herself; so wears she to him

,

So sways she level in her husband’s heart .For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,

More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,Than women ’s are.

Cbaraeter of an Old Song.

Mark it, Cesario it is old and plainThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

And the free maids, that weave their threadwith bonesfi"

Do use to chant It : It Is srllyA nd dallies with the innocence of love,Like the old age.

Come away, come away, death,And in sad cypress let me be laid ;Fly away, fly away

,breath

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.My shroud ofwhite, stuck all with yew,

O, prepare it

Lace-makers. 1: Simple truth .

1 4 Twetft/i N ig/i t.

My part of death no one so trueDid share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,On my black coffin let there be StrownNot a friend, not a friend greet

Mypoor corpse,wheremybones shall be thrown.

A thousand thousands sighs to save,Lay me, 0 , where

Sad true lover ne’er find my graveTo weep there.

attired as a Page, speaks of ber concealed Love

for t/ae Duke.

VIOLA. Ay, but I know,

DUKE. What dost thou know ?VIOLA. Too well what love women tomen may owe

In faith , they are as true of heart as we.

My father had a daughter lov’

d a man,

A s it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,I should your lordship.DUKE. And what ’s her history ?VIOLA. A blank, my lord : She never told her love,

But let concealment , l ike a worm i ’ the bud,Feed on her damask cheek : she pin ’d in thought,And, with a green and yellow melancholy,She sat like Patience on a monument ,Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?W e men may say more, swear more : but, indeed,Our shows are more than wil l for still we proveMuch in our vows, but l ittle in Our love.

Twe Gentlemen of Verona . 1 5

ACT III.

d Jester .

This fellow’s wise enough to play the fool ;

And, to do that well, craves a kind ofwit ;

He must observe their mood on whom he jests,The quality of persons and the time ;And, like the haggard,"r check at every featherThat comes before his eye. This is a practice,A s ful l of labour as a wise man’s art

For folly, that he wisely shews, is fit ;But wise men, folly -fallen, quite taint their wit.

Unsong/yt Lafoe.

Cesario, by the roses of the spring,By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,I love thee so, that maugre

'

l' all thy pride,

Nor wit, nor reason can my passion hide.

DO nOt extort thy reasons from this clause,

For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause ;

But, rather, reason thus with reason fetterLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.

— 000

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA .

Valentine and Proteus, the two gentlemen of Verona, are in

love several ly with Silvia, daughter of the Duke of M ilan,and

Jul ia, a lady ofVerona. Valentine leaves Verona for the court of

M ilan, where he is joined by Proteus, Jul ia fol lowing her lover inmale attire . Proteus proves inconstant and becomes enamoured

of Silvia, whose intended elopement and marriage with Valentine

A hawk not properly trained. 1 Notwithstanding.

1 6 Two Gentlemen of Verona .

he betrays to her father the Duke, who designs to wed her te

Thurio an empty braggart . On discovering this the Duke banishesValentine from his dominions

, who, journeying towards Mantua,

encounters in a forest certain outlaws, who make him their cap

tain. AfterValentine’s exile, Proteus, dissembl ing his love forSilvia

,promises the Duke to urge her to accep t Thurio ; she rejects

both suitors and fol lows Valentine, on whom her father at lengthbestows her. The treachery of Proteus being discovered, he becomes repentant, and is pardoned by Jul ia, who accepts him as her

husband. The more serious parts of the play are relieved by the

comic scenes in which Speed and Launce,servants to Valentine

and Proteus, appear.

ACT I.

LO‘DL’ Commended and Censured.

PROTEU S. Yet writers say, A s in the sweetest budThe eating canker dwell s, so eating loveInhabits in the finest wits of all .VALENTINE. And writers say,A s the most forward bud

Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

Even so by love the young and tender witIs turu’d to folly ; blasting in the bud,Losing his verdure even in the prime,And all the fair effects of future hopes.

Love Freward and Dissembling.

Maids, in modesty say No”to that

Which they would have the profferer construeFie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love ;That, l ike a testy babe will scratch the nurse,And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod !

Advantage of Travelling.

He cannot be a perfect man,Not being try

’d and tutor’d in the world ;

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I 8 Two Gentlemen of Verona .

Lave increased 5} Attempts to suppress it .

JULIA. D idst thou but know the inly touch Of loveThou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,

A s seek to quench the fire of love with words .

LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love’s hotfire ;

But qualify the fire’s extreme rage,Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason .JULIA. The more thou damm’

st it up, the more itburns ;

The current, that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’

st, being stopp’d, impatiently do th rage ;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamell ’d stones,G iving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage ;A nd so by many winding nooks he strays,With willing sport, to the wild ocean .

Then let me go, and hinder not my course ;I ’l l be as patient as a gentle stream,

And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last. step have brought me to my loveA nd there I ’ll rest, as, after much turmoil,A blessed soul cloth in Elysium.

1 1fa it/gfnl Lover.

H is words are bonds, his oaths are oraclesH is love sincere, his thoughts immaculateH is tears pure messengers sent from his heartHis heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth ,

Two Gentlemen of Verona .

A CT III.

Presents prevailrwith Woman.

W in her with gifts, if she respect not wordsDumb jewel s often , in their silent kind,More than quick words do move a woman’s mind .

B eautypetitioning in vain.

Ay, ay ; and she hath offer’d to the doom,

(Which unreversecl, stands in effec tual force ) ,A sea ofmelting pearl, which some call tearsThose at her father’s churlish feet she tender’d ;With them, upon her knees, her humble self ;Wringing her hands, whose wh iteness so becameA s if but now they waxed pale for woeBut neither bended knees, pure hands held up,Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire .

Hope.

Hope is a lover’s staff ; walk hence with that,And manage it against despairing thoughts.

T/Jree T/Jings in M an disliked by Women.

The best way is to slander ValentineW ith falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ;Three things that women h ighly hold in hate.

Tire P ower of P oetry w it/9 Women.

Say, that upon the altar of her beautyYou sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heartWrite till your ink be my and with your tearsMoist it again, and frame some feeling line,That may discover such integrity

I 9

2 0 Two Gen tl emen of Verona .

For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poet’s sinews ;Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,Make tigers tame, and huge leviathansForsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

ACT V.

4 Lower in Solitude.

How use doth breed a habit in a manThis shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,I better brook than flourishing peopled towns .Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,And, to the nightingale

’s complaining notes,

Tune my distresses, and record my woes.O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,Leave not the mansion so long tenantlessLest, growing ruinous, the building fall,And leave no memory of what it was !Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia ;Thou gentle nymph, Cherish thy forlorn Swain !

Lo‘ve unreturned.

What dangerous action , stood it next to death,Would I not undergo for one calm look ?0 ,

’t is the curse in love, and stil l approved,

When women cannot love where they ’re beloved.

Infidelity in a Friend.

Who should be trusted now, when one’s right handIs perjur

’d to the bosom ? Proteus,I am sorry I must never trust thee more,But count the world a stranger for thy sake.The private wound is deepest.

Winter’s Ta le. 2 I

Repentance.

Who by repentance is not satisfied,Is not of heaven nor earth .

fnconstancy in Man.

O heaven ! were manBut constant, he were perfect : that one errorFills him with faults.

— 000

WINTER’S TALE.

Polixenes, King ofBohemia, is on a visit to his friend Leontes,King of Sicil ia, and is about to take his leave,when he is induced,chiefly by the courteous sol icitations ofHermione wife of Leontes,to prolong his visit . Suddenly Leontes, who has hitherto been a

k ind husband, changes his love forHermione to the bitterest hate,

orders her to prison, and commands Antigonus, a Sicilian lord, totake away her infant daughter, and l eave the child exposed in a

remote and desert place in Bohemia. An old shepherd finds thel ittl e princess and brings her up as his own child under the name

of Perdita. When she has arrived at womanhood, she is en

countered by Florizel , the son of Polixenes, and they become

enamoured of each other, she being then supposed to be the daughter of the old shepherd. The play concludes with the discoveryof the royal descent of Perdita, and Hermione (who for a numberofyears has been supposed to be dead, but who has been only in

concealment) is restored to Leontes, who deeply repents of his

cruel persecution ofher.

ACT I .

Fondness of a Fat/yerfor Isis Claild.

If at home, sir,He

’s all my exercise, my mirth, mymatter

2 2 Wz'

nter’

s Ta le.

Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemyMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, allHe makes a July’s day short as DecemberAnd, with his varying childness, cures in meThoughts that would thick my blood .

Regicides bateful.

To do this deed,Promotion follows ; if I could find exampleOf thousands, that had struck anoin ted kings,A nd flourished after, I ’d not do’ t : but sinceNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears notLet villany itself forswear ’t.

ACT I I .

Eloquence of s ilent Innocence.

The silence often of pure innocencePersuades, when speaking fails.

Exposing an Infant.

Come on, poor: babeSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens,To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say,Casting their savageness aside, have doneLike offices of pity.

A CT III.

Innocence.

Innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.

Winter’s Ta l e. 2 3

Despair of Pardon.

But, O thou tyrant !Do not repent these things ; for they are heavierThan all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee,To nothing but despair. A thousand kneesTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,Upon a barren mountain , and stil l winterIn storm perpetual, could not move the godsTo look that way thou wert.

Infant exposed.

Poor wretch,That, for thy mother

’s fault, art thus exposed

To loss, and what may follow l— Weep I cannot,But my heart bleeds and most accursed am I ,TO be by oath enjoin

’d to this — Farewell

The day frowns more and more thou art like to haveA lullaby too rough.

A Rnstic’s Description of a Slsipwrecé.

I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,how it takes up the shore ! but that ’s not to the point .0 , the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! sometimesto see

’em,and not to see

’em now the ship boring

the moon with her main-mast ; and anon swallowedwith yest and froth, as you ’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service, -TO see how

the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; how he cried tome for help, and said his name was A ntigonus, a nobleman.

—But to make an end of the ship : to see how

the sea flap-dragoned * It - but, first, how the poorsouls roared, and the sea mocked them -and how the

Engulphed.

2 4 Winter’s Ta le.

poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both

roaring louder than the sea or weather.

ACT IV.

True Love.

He says , he loves my daughter ;I think so too for never gazed the moonUpon the water, as he ’l l stand, and readA s

’twere, my daugh ter

’

s eyes : and, to be plain ,I think there is not half a kiss to chooseWho loves ano ther best .

A Fat/Ier tloe Test Guest at lsis Son’s Nupti als .

POLIXENES. Methinks, a fatherIs, at the nuptial Of his son, a guestThat best becomes the table . Pray you, once moreIs not your father grown incapableOf reasonable affairs ? is he not stupidWith age, and altering rheums ? can he speak ? hear ?Know man fromman dispute his own estate ?Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing,But what he did being childish ?FLORIzEL. NO, good sir

H e has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,Than most have of his age .POLIXENES. Bymy white beard ,

You offer him, if this be so, a wrongSomething unfilial. Reason , my son,

Should .choose himself a wife ; but as good reason,The father ( all whose joy is nothing elseBut fair posterity ) , should hold some counselIn such a business.

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26 Hamlet.

at the same time the widow of the murdered monarch,whose

ghost appears to his son Hamlet,urging him to avenge his death.

In order the better to effect thiSobject,Hamlet feigns madness

,and

causes a play to be acted before the king and queen which repre

sents a scene similar to the murder of his father. The agitation of

the k ing and queen at witnessing this representation, convincesHamlet of their guil t, and he eventual ly avenges his father’s deathby kil ling the guil ty Claudius ; the queen drinks poison which isintended by the king for Hamlet , who, in a fencing bout withLaertes, son of Polonius, a fool ish old lord

,is wounded by a rapier

anointed with poison and dies. O phel ia,the daughter of P0 10

nius,goes mad

,and drowns herself in a distraught state

,whilst

Polonius himself is stabbed by Hamlet . The play, perhaps more

than any other of Shakspere’

s,abounds in tragic incidents . If

,

”

says Dr. Johnson,Speaking of this play, the dramas of Shakspere

were to be characterized each by the particular excel lence whichdistinguishes it from the rest

,we must al low to the tragedy of

Hamlet the praise of variety ; the incidents are so numerous that

the argument of the playwould make a long tale .

"

A CT I .

Glsosts nanisb at tire Growing of a Cock.

BERNARDO. It was about to speak when the cockcrew.

HORATIO. And then it started, like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons . I have heard,The cock, that is the trumpet of the mom,

Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day ; and, at his warn ing,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,The extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine.

Tlae Re‘verence paid to Cbristmas Time.

It faded on the crowing of the cock.Some say, that ever

’gainst that season comes

H amlet. 2 7

Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,This bird of dawning singeth all night longAnd then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ;The nights are wholesome then no planets strike,No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,Walks o ’er the dew of yon high eastern hill .

’T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother,Nor customary suits of solemn black,Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,NO, nor the fruitful river in the eye,Nor the dejected ’

haviour Of the visage,Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,That can denote me truly these, indeed, seem,

For they are actions that a man might play :But I have that within, which passeth show ;These, but the trappings and the suits ofwoe.

1mmoderate Grief reproved.

’T is sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,To give these mourning duties to your fatherBut, youmust know, your father lost a fatherThat father lost his, and the survivor boundIn fil ial Obligation, for some termTo do Obsequious sorrow But to persevereIn obstinate condolement, is a courseOf impious stubbornness ’

t is unmanly griefIt shows a will most incorrect to heavenA heart unfortified, or mind impatient

2 8 Hamid .

An understanding simple and unschool ’dFor what we know must be, and is as commonA s any the most vulgar thing to sense,Why should we, in our peevish opposition,Take it to heart ? Fie ! ’

t is a fault to heaven,A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,To reason most absurd ; whose common themeIs death of fathers, and who still hath criedFrom the first corse

,till he that died to-day,

This must be so.

’

Ham/31’s So/z'

loguy on lair Mot/m ”: Marriage.

0 that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw, and resolve* itself into a dew !Or that the Everlasting had not fixedHis canonT

’gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! 0 God !

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world !Fie on

’t ! O fie ! ’

t is an unweeded garden,That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this !But two months dead l— nay, not so much, not twoSo excel lent a king ; that was, to thisHyperioni to a satyr : so loving to mymother,That he might not beteem§ the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth !Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,

A s if increase of appetite had grownBy what it fed on : and yet, within a month,Let me not think on t -Frailty, thy name is woman 1A lit tle month or ere those shoes were old,W ith which she follow

’d my poor father

’s body,

9? Dissolve . 1” Law I A name for Apol lo .

H amlet. 29

Like Niobe, all tears —why she, even she,O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason ,Would have mourn’d longer

,-married with my uncle,

My father’s brother ; but no more like my father,

Than I to Hercules : Within a month ;Ere yet the salt ofmost unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing in her galled eyes,She married .

The Extent of Human Perfection.

He was a man, take him for all in all,I shall not look upon his l ike again.

Cautions to young Women .

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood ;A violet in the youth of primy nature,Forward, not permanent, sweet , not lasting.

The perfume and suppliance of a minuteNo more.

Satire on ungracious Pastors .

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother,Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,Show me the steep and thorny way to heavenWhilst, l ike a puff

’d and reckless libertine,

H imself the primrose path of dalliance treads,And recks not his own reed.

’le

Adv ice to a Son going to Travel.

G ive thy thoughts no tongue,Nor any unproportion

’d thought his act .

97° Regards not his own lessons.

3O Hamlet.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,G rapple them to thy soul with hooks of steelBut do not dull thy palm

”té with entertainmentOf each new-hatch

’

d, unfledged comrade. BewareOf entrance to a quarrel : but, being in,Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.G ive every man thine ear, but few thy voiceTake each man’s censureyfbut reserve thy judgment .Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express’d in fancy rich, not gaudy

For the apparel oft proclaims the manA nd they in France, of the best rank and station,Are most select and generous, chiefi in that.Neither a borrower nor a lender beFor loan oft loses both itself and friendAnd borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all, — To thine own self be true ;And it must follow, as the night the day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Hamlet’

s Ha'a'resr to [air Father’s Ghost.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us !Be thou a Spirit of health, or gobl in damn’d,Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,Be thy intents wicked or charitable,Thou com’

st in such a questionable shape,That I will speak to thee ; I ’l l cal l thee, H amlet,King, father, royal D ane : O , answer meLet me not burst in ignorance ! but tellWhy thy canoniz

’d bones, hearsed in death,

Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre,Wherein we saw thee quietly in-utu’d,

Palm of the hand. 1“ Opinion . I Chiefly.

Hamlet. 3 I

H ath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,To cast thee up again ! What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,Revisit

’st thus the gl impses Of the moon,

Making night hideous and we fools of nature,So horribly to shake Our disposition,With thoughts beyond the reaches ofour souls ?

Toe Dangers attendant onfollow ing the Glaost.

What, ifit tempt you toward the flood, my lord,Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,That beetles’le o’er his base into the sea

A nd there assume some other horrible form,

Which might deprive your sovereignty Of reason,A nd draw you into madness ? think of it

The very place puts toysTof desperation,Without more motive, in to every brain,That looks so many fathoms to the sea,

And hears it roar beneath.

Gnast and Hamlet.

HAMLET. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak ; I’ll

go no further.GHOST. Mark me.

HAMLET. I will .GHOST . My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flamesMust render up myself.HAMLET. A las, poor ghost !GHOST. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

To what I shall unfold.HAMLET. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Impends. 1: Whims.

3 2 H amlet.

GHOST . SO art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.HAMLET . What ?G HOST . I am thy father

’s spirit ;

Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night ;

And, for the day, confln’

d to fast in fires,Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,A re buru’d and purg

’d away. But that I am forbid

To tel l the secret s ofmy prison house,I could a tale unfold, whose lightest wordW ould harrow up thy soul freeze thy young blood ;Make thy two eyes, l ike stars, start from their spheres ;Thy knotted and combined locks to part,And each particular hair to stand on end,

Like quills upon the fretful porcupineBut this eternal blazon must not beTo ears Of flesh and blood — List, list, O list !

If thou didst ever thy dear father love,HAMLET . O heavenGHOST . Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.HAMLET. Murder ?GHOST . Murder most foul, as in the best it is

But this most foul , strange, and unnatural .HAMLET . Haste me to know it ; that I with wings

as swift

A s meditation, or the thoughts Of love,May sweep to my revenge.G HOST . I find thee apt

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weedThat rots itself in ease on Lethe’s Wharf,VVouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear’T is given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard,A serpent stung me so the whole ear OfDenmarkIs, by a forged process ofmy death,Rankly abus’d but know, thou noble youth,

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34 Hamlet.

ACT II.

Old Age.

Beshrew my jealousyIt seems, it is as proper to our age

To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions,A s it is common for the younger sortTo lack discretion.

Rnetions on M an.

I have of late (but wherefore I know not ) lost allmy mirth, foregone all custom of exercises : and, in

deed, it goes so heavily with my disposit ion, that thisgoodly frame , the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory this most excellen t canopy, the air, look you, thisbrave o’er-hanging firmament, this majestical rooffrettedwith golden fire, why, it appears no o ther thing to me,than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.What a piece ofwork is man How noble in reason !how infinite in facul ties in form, and moving, how ex

press and admirable ! in ac tion , how l ike an angel ! inapprehension, how l ike a god the eauty of the world !the paragon of animals ! A nd yet, to me, what is thisquintessence of dust ? Man del ights not me,— nor

woman neither ; though, by your smil ing, you seem to

say so.

fl amlet’s Reflections on the P layer.

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am IIs it not monstrous, that this player here,But in a fict ion , in a dream of passion ,Could force his soul thus to his own conceit,That, from her working, al l his visage wann

’d

Tears in his eyes, distraction in ’s aspect,

Hamlet. 35

A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit ? A nd all for nothingFor Hecuba !W hat ’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,That he should weep for her ? What would he do ,Had he the motive and the cue for passionThat I have ? He would drown the stage with tears,A nd cleave the general ear with horrid speechMake mad the guil ty, and apps ] the free,Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed,The very faculties of eyes and ears .

Yet I,A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,Like John a-dreams, unpregnant ofmy cause,And can say nothing ; no, not for a king,Upon whose property, and most dear l ife,A damn’d defeat" was made. Am I a cowardW ho calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ?Plucks offmy beard, and blows it in my faceTweaks me by the nose ? gives me the he i

’

the throat,A s deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this >Ha !

Why,I should take it for it cannot be,

But I am pigeon-l iver’d, and lack gall

To make oppression bit ter or, ere this,I should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal .

Ej ect of a P lay on the M ind.

I have heardThat guilty creatures, sitting at a play,Have by the very cunning of the scene

Al luding to his father’s murder and the usurpation of the

crown by his uncle .

z6 Hamlet.a;

Been struck so to the soul, that presentlyThey have proclaim

’d their malefactions P“

Formurder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ . I ’l l have these playersPlay somethinglike the murder ofmy father,Before mine uncle : I ’

ll Observe his looks ;I ’ll tent him to the quick —l~ if he do blenchI knowmy course. The spirit that I have seenMay be a devil : and the devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps,Out ofmyweakness and my melancholy

(A s he is very potent with such spirits )Abuses me to damn me . I ’ll have groundsMore relative than this. The play ’s the thingWherein I’ ll catch the conscience of the king.

ACT III .

Hamlet’s Soliloquy on L92 and Death.

To be, or not to be, that is the questionWhether t is nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortuneOr to take arms against a sea of troubles,And, by opposing, end them — TO die, - to sleep,NO more —and, by a sleep, to saywe end

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to,—

’

t is a consummationDevoutly to bewish’d. To die — to sleepTo sleep ! perchance to dream - ay, there

’s the rub ;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuflled Off this mortal coil,1Must give us pause there ’s the respect §Their crimes . 1

‘ Particularly note ifhe betrays his gui ltI Confusion. Reason.

Hamlet. 37

That makes calamity of so long lifeFor who would hear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

”t

The pangs of despis’

d love, the law’

s delay,The insolence of oflice, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himselfmight his quietus-I makeW ith a bare bodkin ?I who would fardels§ bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary lifeBut that the dread of something after death,The undiscovered country, from whose bourn llNo traveller returns,— puzzles the will ;And makes us rather bear those ills we have,Than fly to others that we know not of

Thus conscience does make cowards ofus allAnd thus the native hue of resolutionIS sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thoughtAnd enterprises of great pith and moment,With this regard, their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action.

Calumny.

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shaltnot escape calumny.

A D isordered Ill ina’.

0 , what a noble mind is here o’erthrown

The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword,The expectancy and rose of the fair state,The glass of fash ion, and the mould

‘ll of form,

Contempt . 1 Acquittance.

I A daggerwas in our author’

s time sometimes cal led a bodkin .

Burthens. ll Confines.

q The model bywhich others might frame themselves.

3 8 Hamlet.

The observed of all observers ! quite, quite down !And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,That suck’d the honey of his music vows,Now see that noble and most sovereign reason ,Like sweet bell s jangled, out of tune and harshThat unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth,B lasted with ecstasy.

*

Hamlet’

s Instructions to the P layers .

HAMLET. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; but ifyoumouth it, as many of our players do

,I had as l ief the

town-crier spoke my l ines . Nor do not saw the air too

much with your hand, thus but use all gently : for inthe very torren t, tempest, and ( as I may say) whirlwind Of your passion, you must acquire and beget atemperance that may give it smoothness. 0 , it offendsme to the soul , to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellowtear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears ofthe groundlings 1 who, for the most part, are capableOf nothing but inexpl icable dumb show and noise : Iwould have such a fellow whipped for out-doing Termagant ; it out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.PLAYER. I warrant your honour .HAMLET. Be not too tame neither, but let your own

discretion be your tutor ; suit the action to the word,the word to the act ion ; with this spec ial Observance,that you o

’erstep nor the modesty of nature : for any

thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whoseend, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as’twe e, the mirror up to nature to show virtue her ownfeature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body

5 Insanity.

1~ That portion of the audience occupyingthe pit of the theatre .

Hamlet. 39

Of the time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, Or come tardy off, though it make the unskilfullaugh, cannot but make the jud icious gl ieve ; the censureofwhich one must, in your allowance, overwe igh a wholetheatre of Others. O , there be players, that I have seenplay, and heard o thers praise, and that highly— not

to speak it profanely, that ne ither having the accent ofChrist ians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man,have so strutted, and bel lowed, that I have thoughtsome of nature ’s j ourneymen had made men, and not

made them wel l, they imitated humanity so abomin

ably.PLAYER. I hope we have reformed that indifferently

with us.HAMLET . O, reform it altogether. And let those

that play your clowns speak no more than is set downfor them : for there be of them that will themselveslaugh , to set on some quantity of barren spectators tolaugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessaryquestion of the play he then to be considered : that ’svillanous : and shows a most pitiful ambition in the foolthat uses it.

Hamlet’s Esteemfor his friend Horatio.

Nay, do not think I flatterFor what advancement may I hope from thee,That no revenue hast but thy good spiritsTo feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be

fl at ter’d ?

NO, let the candied tongue lick absurd pompA nd crook the pregnant * hinges Of the knee,Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ?Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice.

Prompt, facile

40 Hamlet.

And could ofmen distinguish her election ,She hath seal

’

d thee for herself; for thou hast beenA s one in suffering all, that suffers nothingA man that fortune’s buffets and rewardsHast ta’en with equal thanks : and bless

’d are thoseWhose blood and judgment are SO well co-mingled,That they are not a pipe for fortune’s fingerTo sound what stop she please : G ive me that manThat 18 not passion ’s slave

,and I will wear him

In my heart’S core, ay, in my heart of hearts,

A s I do thee.

M idnigbt.

’Tis now the very witching time of night ;When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes outContagion to this world Now could I drink hot blood,And do such bitter business as the dayWould quake to look on. Soft ; now to mymotherO , heart, lose not thy nature ; let not everThe soul ofNero enter this firm bosom :

Let me be cruel, not unnaturalI will speak daggers to her, but use none .

The King’s DespairingSoliloquy.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heavenIt hath the primal eldest curse upon ’

t,

A brother’s murder l— Pray can I not,Though inclination be as sharp as wil l ;My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ;And, l ike a man to double business bound,I stand in pause where I shall first begin,A nd both neglect. What if this cursed handWere thicker than itselfwith brother’s blood ?Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens

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4 2 Hamlet.

Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the roseFrom the fair forehead of an innocent love,A nd sets a bl ister there makes marriage vowsA S false as dicers’ oaths : O , such a deedA s from the body of contract ion* plucksThe very soul and sweet rel igion makesA rhapsody ofwords : heaven’s face doth glowYea, this sol idity and compound mass,W ith tristfull‘ visage, as against the doom,

Is thought-sick at the act.

QUEEN. Ah me, what act,That roars so loud, and thunders in the indexHAMLET. Look here, upon this picture, and on this

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers .

See, what a grace was seated on this browHyperion

’

sil‘

. curls ; the front ofJove himselfAn eye like Mars, to threaten and commandA station like the herald Mercury,New- lighted on a heaven-kissing hil lA combination, and a form, indeed,W here every god did seem to set his seal

,

To give the world assurance of a manTh is was your husband — Look you now, what followsHere is your husband ; l ike a mildew

’

d ear,Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ?Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ?You cannot call it love : for, at your age,The hey-day in the blood is tame, tis humble,A nd waits upon the judgmen t : and what judgmentW ould step from this to th is Sense, sure you have ,Else could you not have motion : but, sure that senseIs apoplex

’d : for madness would not err ;

Contract ofwedlock . 1: Mournful . I Apol lo

’

s.

H amlet. 4 3

Nor sense to ecstasy’i‘ was ne’er so thrall ’d,

But it reserved some quantity of choice,To serve in such a difference. What devil was ’tThat thus hath coz en’d you at hoodman -blind ?‘

l’

Eyes without feel ing, feel ing without sight,Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sansI all ,O r but a sickly part of one true senseCould not so mope.§O Shame where is thy blush Cl Rebellious hell,If thou canst mutine in a matron ’s bones,To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

A nd melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame,When the compulsive ardour gives the charge ;Since frost itself as actively doth burn,A nd reason panders will.QUEEN. O Hamlet, speak no more

Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul ;A nd there I see such black and grained spots,A s will not leave their tinct . 1]

Enter Ghost.

HAMLET. Save me, and hover o ’er me with yourwings,

You heavenly guards - What would your graciousfigureQUEEN. A las, he ’

s mad.

HAMLET. Do younot come your tardy son to chide,That, lapsed in time and passion , lets go byThe important acting of your dread command ?O, say !

GHOST. Do not forget : this visitation[S but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.

Frenzy. 1" Blindman

’

s-buff. I W ithout.Could not be so absurd. [ITinge, hue.

4 Hamlet.

But, look amazement on thymother sitsO , step between her and her figh ting soul ;Conceit’f in weakest bodies strongest works ;Speak to her, Hamlet.HAMLET. How is it with you, ladyQUEEN. A las, how is ’t with you?

That you do bend your eye on vacancy,A nd with the incorporal air do hold discourse ?Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peepA nd, as the Sleeping soldiers in the alarm,

Your bedded hair, like l ife in excrements,S tarts up, and stands on end. 0 gentle son,Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ?HAMLET. On him ! On him ! Look you, how

pale he glares !H is form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones,W ould make them capable -

f Do not look upon me ;Lest with this piteous action, you convertMy stern effects ;1

'

then what I have to doWill want true colour ; tears, perchance, for bloodQUEEN. To whom do you speak this ?HAMLET . Do you see nothing thereQUEEN. Nothing at all yet all that is I see.

HAMLET . Nor did you nothing hearQUEEN. No , nothing, but ourselves.HAMLET. Why look you there look, how it stealsaway

My father, in his habit as he livedLook, where he goes, even now, out at the portal

[Exit GhostQUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain

Fancy. 1 Would make them comprehend I Actions .

H amlet. 4 5

This bodiless creation ecstasyIs very cunning in.

HAMLET . Ecstasy !My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,A nd makes as healthful music it is not madnessThat I have utter’d : bring me to the test,

A nd I the matter will re-word ; which madnessWould gambol from. Mother, for love Of grace,Lay not that fl attering unc tion to your soul,That not your trespass, but my madness speaksIt will but skin and film the ulcerous place ;Whiles rank corruption, mining all within ,Infects unseen . Confess yourself to heavenRepent what ’s past ; avoid what is to come .

ACT IV.

Hamlet’s frresolution.

How all occasions do inform against me,

And spur my dull revenge what is a manIf his chief good

,and market’* of his time,

Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast , no more .

Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,-jLooking before and after, gave us notThat capability and god-like reasonTo fustit in us unused. Now, whether it beBestial Oblivion , or some craven scrupleOf thinking too precisely on the event,A thought which quarter

’d hath but one part wisdom

And, ever, three parts coward,— I do not knowWhy yet I live to say, This thing

’s to do

S ith I have cause, and will, and strength, and meansTo do ’

t. Examples gross as earth exhort meProfi t. 1 Capacity.

Hamlet.

Sorrows rarely single.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,But in battalions

Tire Divinity of Kings .

There’s such divinity doth hedge a king,That treason can but peep to what it would,A c ts l ittle of his will.

A CT V.

Hamlet’s Reflections on Torieé

’

s Stall.

GRAVE-DIGGER. A pestilence on him for a madrogue ! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my headonce . This same skull, S ir, was Yorick’s skull, theking ’s jester.HAMLET. This ?GRAVE-DIGGER. E

’en that .

HAMLET. A las poor Yorick -I knew him, Horatioa fellow of infin ite jest ; of most excellent fancy ; hehath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now,

how abhorred in my imaginat ion it is ! my gorge risesat it . Here hung those l ips that I have kissed I knownot how oft . Where be your gibes now your gambols ?your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wontto set the table on a roar ? Not one now to mock yourown grinning : quite chap-fallen ? Now get you to mylady’s chamber

,and tel l her, let her paint an inch thick,

to this favourée she must come ; make her laugh at that .

Ophelia’s Interment.

Lay her i’the earth

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh,‘5 Condition.

7 nl ins Ce sa r. 4 7

May violets spring —I tell thee, churlish priest,A minist’ring angel shall my sister be,When thou liest howling.

M elancholy.

This is mere madness ;And thus a while the fit wil l work on himA non, as patient as the female dove,W hen that her golden couplets are disclosed,H is Silence will sit drooping.

P rov idence directs ourd ctions .

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.

000

JULIUS CJESAR.

Brutus and Cassius, noble Romans, envious of the popularityof Cmsar, conspire with Casca, Decius, and others to assassinate

him. Caesar is warned by his wife Calphurnia and a soothsayer

against attending the Capitol ; he however disregards their ad

monitions,and is kil led by the conspirators at the foot of Pompey

’

s

statue . In the commotion which ensues Brutus harangues the citi

zens, and wins them over to his side,but Mark Antony (cal led

in the play Marcus Antonius) , who is a strongadherent ofCaesar’s,afterwards addresses the populace, and excites in them a desire to

avenge the death of Ce sar. Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,march with an army against Brutus and Cassius

,who have fl ed

fromRome and await with their forces the attack ofAntony and

his Confederates. A quarrel ensues between Brutus and Cassius inthe tent of the former

,prior to the bat tle which is to decide their

fates ; their differences, however, are soon healed,and theymeet

the hostile army at Philippi where they are defeated,and, rather

than fall into the hands of their foes, kill themselves. Portia, the

4 8 7 a l ias Ce sar.

wife of Brutus, has, prior to this period, ended her l ife by poison.

An eloquent tribute from Octavius andAntony to the character of

Brutus ends the play.

A CT I .

Patriotism.

WHAT is it that you would impart to me ?If it be aught toward the general good,Set honour in one eye, and death i

’the other,

A nd I wil l look on both indifferently.For, let the gods so Speed me, as I loveThe name of honourmore than I fear death.

Contempt of Cass iusfor Caesar.

CASSIU S. I was born free as Cmsar ; so were yOtWe both have fed as well and we can bothEndure the winter’s cold as well as he .For once, upon a raw and gusty day,The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,Caesar said to me, Dar’st thou, Cassius, now,

Leap in Wi th me into this angry flood,A nd swim to yonder point ?” Upon the word,A ccoutred as I was, I plunged in,And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did.

The torrent roar’d and we did buffet itWith lusty sinews ; throwing it aside,A nd stemming it with hearts of controversy.

But ere we could arrive the point prOpos’d,

Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.I, as l Eneas, our great ancestor,D id from the flames ofTroy upon his shoulderThe old A nchises bear, so from the waves ofTibetDid I the tired Caesar : And this manIs now become a god ; and Cassius is

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50 fifa l ias Ca rma

That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham’d

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods 1When went there by an age, since the great flood

,

But it was fam’d with more than with one man ?When could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome,That her wide walks encompass

’

d but one man ?

Carar’

s suspicions of Cassius .

’Would he were fatter z— but I fear him not

Yet ifmy name were liable to fear,I do not know the man I should avoidSo soon as that spare Cassius. He reads muchHe is a great observer, and he looksQuite through the deeds ofmen : he loves no p lays,A s thou dost, A ntony ; he hears no musicSeldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort ,A s if he mock’d himself, and scorn’(1 his spirit,That could be mov’d to smile at any thingSuch men as he be never at heart’s ease,Whiles they behold a greater than themselvesAnd therefore are they very dangerous.I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d,Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.

ACT II .

Ambition clad in Humility.

But’t IS a common proof,

That lowl iness is young ambition’s ladderWhereto the climber upward turns his faceBut when he once attains the upmost round,He then unto the ladder turns his back,Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degreesBy which he did a scend.

? a l z'

as Ca sa r. 5 l

Conspiracy dreadful till executed.

Between the acting of a dreadful thingAnd the first motion, all the interim isLike a phantasma, or a hideous dreamThe genius, and the mortal instrumen ts,Are then in council : and the state ofman,

Like to a little kingdom, suffers thenThe nature of an insurrection.

Conspiracy.

O conspiracy !Shamest thou to shew thy dangerous brow by n ightWhen evils are most free ? 0 then, by day,Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enoughTo mask thy monstrous visage Seek none, conspiracyH ide it in smiles and affabilityFor if thou path, thy native semblance on,Not Erebus itselfwere dim enoughTo hide thee from prevention.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumberThou hast no figures nor no fantasies,Which busy care draws in the brains ofmen ;Therefore thou sleep’st so sound .

Portentr attend Royal Deaths .

When beggars die, there are no comets seenThe heavens themselves blaz e forth the death of princes.

The Fear of Dea th.

Cowards die many times before their deathsThe valiant never taste of death but once.

52 ? a l z’

zzs Ca ra t .

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,It seems to me most strange that men should fear ;Seeing that death , a necessary end,Will come when it will come.

Entry.

My heart laments that virtue cannot liveOut of the teeth of emulationfii

A CT III.

B rutus’s d ddrers to the Citiz ens .

BRUTUS . Be patient till the last .Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for mycause and be silent, that youmay hear : believe me formine honour ; and have respect to mine honour, thatyou may believe censure me in your wisdom ; andawake your senses, that youmay the better judge . If

there be any in this assembly, any dear friend ofCaesar’s,

to him I say, that Brutus’s love to Caesar was no less than

his. If then that friend demand whyBrutus rose againstCaesar, this is my answer,— Not that I loved Caesarless, but that I loved Rome more. Had you ratherCaesar were living and die all slaves ; than that Caesarwere dead, to live all free men ? A s Caesar loved me,I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ;as he was valiant, I honour him : but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love ; joy forhis fortune ; honour for his valour ; and death for hisambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bond~man If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Whois here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any,

speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so vile,Malice .

7a l z'

as Caesar. 53

th at will not l ove his country ? If any, speak, for himhave I offended. I pause for a reply.CIT IZENS. None, Brutus, none .

BRUTU S. Then none have I offended . I have doneno more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The

question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; hisglory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor hisoffences enforced, for which he suffered death . Herecomes his body,mourn ’d byMark Antony : who, thoughhe had no hand in his death, shal l receive the benefit ofhis dying, a place in the commonwealth ; as which of

you shall not ? With this I depart : that, as I slewmy best lover for the good of Rome, I have the samedagger for myself, when it shall please my country toneed my death.

Antony’s Oration ofver Casar

’s Body.

Friends,Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears

I come to bury Ce sar,not to praise him

The evil that men do, lives after them ;The good is oft interred with their bonesSo let it be with Cmsar. The noble BrutusHath told you, Caesar was ambitiousIf it were so, it was a grievous faultAnd grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest

(For B rutus is an honourable manSo they are all, all honourable men) ,Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.H e was my friend, faithful and just to meBut B rutus says, he was ambitiousAnd Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,Whose ransoms did the general coffers fil l

54 ? a l ias Caes ar7 .

D id this in Cmsar seem ambitious ?When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath weptAmbition should be made of sterner stuff ;Yet Brutus says, he was ambitiousA nd Brutus is an honourable man.

You all did see, that on the Lupercal,I thrice presented him a kingly crown ,W hich he did thrice refuse. Was this ambit ionYet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without causeWhat cause withholds you then to mourn for him ?

0 judgment, thou art fl ed to brut ish beasts,And men have lost their reason l— Bear with meMy heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,And I must pause till it comes back to me.

a at. se as

But yesterday the word ofCaesar mightH ave stood against the world : now lies he there,And none so poor to do him reverence.O masters ! if I were disposed to stirYour hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,Who, you all know, are honourable menI will not do them wrong ; I rather chooseTo wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,Than I will wrong such honourable men.

But here ’s a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ;I found it in his closet , ’

t is his willLet but the commons hear this testament

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read ) ,And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds,

? a l z’

as Ca rma 55

And dip their napkins in his sacred bloodYea, beg a hair of him for memory,And, dying, mention it within their wills,Bequeathing it as a rich legacy,Unto their issue.

as as at as

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

You all do know this mantle : I rememberThe first time ever Caesar put it on’Twas on a summer’s evening in his tentThat day he overcame the Nervii :Look ! in this place ran Cassius’ dagger throughSee what a rent the envious Casca madeThrough this the well—beloved Brutus stabb

’d

A nd, as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,

Mark how the blood of Cmsar follow’d it,

A s rushing out of doors, to be resolved,If Brutus so unkindly knock’d or noFor Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel .Judge, 0 yougods, how dearly Caesar loved him ‘

This was the most unkindest cut of allFor when the noble Caesar saw him stab,Ingratitude, more strong than traitor’s arms,Quite vanquish

’

d him : then burst his mighty heartAnd, in his mantle mufllingup his face,Even at the ba se of Pompey’s statue,Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fel l0

, what a fall was there, my countrymen 1Then I , and you, and all of us, fel l down ,Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.0 , now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feelThe dint"6 of pity : these are gracious drops.

Kind souls, what, weep you, when youbut beholdat Impression .

56 ? a l ias Ca sar.

Our Ca sar’s vesture wounded Look you here,Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, by traitors

as as at a

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you upTo such a sudden flood ofmutiny.They that have done this deed are honourableWhat private griefs"e they have, alas, I know not ,

That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable,And will, no doubt, with reason s answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ;I am no orator, as Brutus isBut, as you know me all , a plain blunt man,That love my friend, and that they know full wellThat gave me public leave to speak of him,

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth ,A ction, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,To stir men’s blood : I only speak right onI tell you that which you yourselves do knowShow you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor, poor dumb

mouths,And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus,And B rutus Antony, there were an A ntonyWould ruflle up your spirits, and put a tongueIn every wound of Caesar’s, that should moveThe stones ofRome to rise and mutiny.

A CT IV.

Ceremonioar Courtesy ins incere.

Ever note, Lucillus,When love begins to sicken and decay

,

It useth an enforced ceremony .

There are no tricks in plain and simple faithWrongs.

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58 ?‘a l z

’

as Ca sa 7 .

That struck the foremost man of all this world,But for supporting robbers shall we now

Contaminate our fingers with base bribesA nd sel l the mighty space of our large honours,For so much trash as may be grasped thus 9I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,Than such a Roman.

CASSIU S. Brutus, bay not me,I ’l l not endure it : you forget yourselfTo hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I,O lder in practice, abler than yourselfTo make conditions .

BRUTUS. Go to ; you’re not, Cassius.CAssws. I am.

BRUTU S. I say, you are not .CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shal l forget myself

Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.BRUTUS . Away, sl ight manCASSIUS. Is ’t possible ?BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash CholerShall I be frighted when a madman stares ?CASSIUS . O , ye gods ye gods ! must I endure all

this !BRUTUS. All this ? ay, more : fret till your proudheart break ;

G o , Show your slaves how choleric you are,

And make your bondmen tremble . Must I budge ?Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouchUnder your testy humour ? By the godsYou shall digest the venom of your spleenThough it do split you : for, from this day forth,I ’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,When you are waspish .

ya l ias Ca ra if . 59

CAS'SIU S . Is it come to this ?BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier

Let it appear so make your vaunting true,A nd it shall please me well : for mine own part,I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

CAssws . You wrong me, every way you wrong me,Brutus

I said an elder soldier, not a betterD id I say betterBRUTUS. If you did, I care not .

CASSIUS . W hen Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus havemov’d me.

BRUTU S . Peace, peace you durst not so havetempted him.

CASSIUS. I durst not ?BRUTU S . No .CASSIUS . What ? durst not tempt him?BRUTUS . For your l ife you durst not .Ca ssrus . Do not presume too much upon my love,I may do that I shall be sorry for.BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threatsFor I am arm’

(1 so strong in honesty,That they pass by me, as the idle wind,Which I respect not. I did send to youFor certain sums of gold, which you den ied meFor I can raise no money by vile meansBy heaven , I had rather coin my heart,A nd drop my blood for drachmasfi than to wringFrom the hard hands of peasants their vile trashBy any indirection. I did sendTo you for gold to pay my legions,Which you denied me was that done l ike Cassius ?

Money .

60 fi zz/tar ( a fa r.

Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius soWhen Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,To lock such rascal counters from his friends,Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,Dash him to pieces !CASSIUS . I denied you not.

BRUTUS. You did.

CASSIUS . I did not : he was but a foolThat brought my answer back. —Brutus hath rived*

my heartA friend should hear his friend’s infirmities,But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.BRUTUS . I do not, till you practise them on me.

CASSIUS. You love me not.

BRUTUS. I do not like your faults.CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.BRUTU S. A flatterer

’s would not, though they do

appearA s huge as high Olympus.CAssrUS . Come, Antony, and young Octavius come,

Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is aweary of the worldHated by one he loves ; braved by his brotherCheck’d like a bondman all his faults observed,Set in a note-book, learn

’d, and coun’d by rote,

To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes l

— There is my dagger,A nd here my naked breast within, a heartDearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than goldIf that thou be ’st a Roman, take it forthI, that denied thee gold, will give my heartS trike, as thou didst at Caesar for, I know,

Riven.

7 zi l ias Cam 7 . 6 I

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov’dst himbetter

Than ever thou lov’dst Cassius.BRUTUS . Sheath your dagger

Be angry when you will, it shall have scopeDo what you will, dishonour shall be humour.O Cassius, you are yoked with a lambThat carries anger as the flint bears fire ;Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,A nd straight is cold again .CAssws . Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,When grief and blood ill-temper

’d vexeth him ?

BRUTU S. When I spoke that I was ill-temper’d too.

CASSIU S. Do you confess so much G ive me yourhand.BRUTUS . And my heart too .

CAssrU s . O Brutus !BRUTU S . What ’s the matterCASSIUS. Have younot love enough to bear with me,

When that rash humour, which my mother gave me,Makes me forgetful ?BRUTUS . Yes, Cassius ; and henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,He ’l l think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Chances occurfor Succes s in

There is a tide in the affairs ofmen,Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortuneOmitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and in miseries.On such a full sea are we now afloat,A nd we must take the current when it serves,Or lose our ventures.

S‘ul z'

us Ce sa r.

A CT V.

The Parting of B rutus ana’ Cas sius fefore tire

Battle of Philippi.

CASSIUS . Then, ifwe lose this battle,You are contented to be led in triumphThrough the streets of Rome ?BRUTUS . No, Cassius, no think not, thou nobleRoman,

That ever B rutus will go bound to RomeHe bears too great a mind. But this same dayMust end that work the ides ofMarch begunA nd whether we shall meet again I know not.

Therefore our everlasting farewell takeFor ever, and for ever, farewell Cassius !Ifwe do meet again, why we shall smileIf not, why then this parting was well made .CASS IUS . For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus !

Ifwe do meet again, we ’ll smile indeed ;Ifnot,

’tis true, this parting was well made .

ERU'I‘

US . Why, then , lead ou.—O, that a man might

knowThe end of this day’s business ere it come ?But it sufficeth that the day will end,And then the end is known.

Antony’s D escription of B rutus .

This was the noblest Roman of them allA ll the conspirators, save only he,D id that they did in envy of great Caesar ;He, only, in a general honest thought ,And common good to all , made one of them.

H is life was gentle and the elementsSo mix ’

d in him, that Nature might stand up,And say to all the world This was a man !

King Lea r 6CM

KING LEAR.

Lear,King of Britain, desirous to shake al l cares and busi

ness from his age, resolves to divide his kingdom between his

daughters, Goneril , Regan,and Cordelia. He inquires from them

the degree of love each feels for him,and deceived by the extrava

gant professions ofGoneril and Regan (wives of the Dukes ofA lbany and Cornwal l ) , apportions his realm equal ly between them

,to

the unjust exclusion of Cordel ia, his youngest daughter, whoseaffection for her father

,though less strongly expressed than her

sisters’

,is deep and genuine . The Earl of Kent strongly, but in

vain, pleads against the disinherison of Cordel ia, and is banished by

Lear for his urgent pleading in her behalf. Notwithstanding herportionless condition, the K ing of France marries Cordel ia for herbeauty and worth, and takes her with him to France . Goneriland Regan

,being mistresses of the k ingdom,

agree in turns to en

tertain their father and his re tinue, but they treat the old k ing withcruel ty, and he goes mad. Cordelia, now Queen of France, advised

of her sisters’

unfi l ial conduct,advances with an army to v indicate

her father’

s cause, but her forces are defeated,and she and Lear

are taken prisoners ; She is executed, and he expires over her deadbody. A dispute has occurred between Goneril and Regan, thelatter of whom is poisoned by her sister, who k il ls herself. In a

combat between Edmund and Edgar, half-brothers and sons of the

Earl of Glo’

ster, the former, whose conduct throughout the play

is marked by the deepest vil lany, is slain, and dies confessing hiscrimes .

A CT I .

Goneril’s profession ofLovefor her Father .

Sir, IDo love youmore than words can wield the matter,Dearer than eye

-sight, space and liberty ;Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare :

64 King Lea r.

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honourA s much as child e’er lov’d, or father found.

A love that makes breath poor,and speech unable

Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Regan’s profession of Filial Love.

I ammade of that selfmetal as my sister,A nd priz e me at her worth. In my true heartI find, she names my very deed of love ;Only she comes too short, - that I professMyself an enemy to all other joys,W hich the most precious square of sense possesses ;And find, I am alone felicitateIn your dear highness’ love.

The King ofFrance’s approval of Cordelia

's conduct.

Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich, being poor ;Most choice, forsaken and most loved, despised !Thee and thy virtues here I seize uponBe it lawful , I take up what

’

s cast away.G ods, gods !

’t is strange that from their cold’st neglect

My love should kindle to inflamed respect.Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my Chance,Is queen ofus, of ours, and our fair France.Not all the dukes ofwat

’rish Burgundy

Shall buy this unpriz’d precious maid ofme

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkindThou losest here, a better where* to find.

Ingratitude in a Child.

Ingratitude ! thoumarble-hearted fiend,More hideous, when thou show’

st thee in a child,Than the sea-monster !

it Here and where are in this place used as nouns.

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66 King Lea r.

ACT III.

Lear’s Bxc/amations in the Tempest.

Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow !You cataracts and hurricanoes spoutT ill you have drench

’d our steeples, drowned the cocks

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,S inge my white head ! A nd thou, all-shaking thunder,Strike flat the thick rotundi ty o’ the world !

as as as 91s

Rumble thy bellyful Spit, fire ! spout, rain !Nor rain , wind, thunder, fire, are my daughtersI tax you not

, you elements with unkindness,I never gave you kingdom, call

’d you Children ,

You owe me no subscript ion why then, let fallYour horrible pleasure here I stand, your slave,A poor, infirm, weak, and despis

’d old man

But yet I call you servile min isters,That have with two pernic ious daughters join

’d

Your h igh-engender’d battles ’gainst a head

80 old and white as this. O O ’t is foul

Refl ections on Man.

Is man no more than th is ? Consider him wellthou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, thesheep no wool , the cat no perfume —Ha ! here ’s threeof us are Sophisticated — Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare,forked animal as thou art. —Off, off,you lendings.

Al legiance.

King Lea r. 67

ACT IV.

Cordelia’s emotion on hearing of her Sister

’

s cruelty.

Patience and sorrow stroveWho should express her goodliest. You have seenSunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tearsWere like a better day : Those happy smiles,That play

’d on her ripe l ip, seem’d not to know

What guests were in her eyes which parted thence,A s pearls from diamonds dropp

’d.

Description qfDo‘ver C132?!

How fearfulAnd dizzy ’

t is to cast one’s eyes so low !The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,Show scarce so gross as beetles : halfway downH angs one that gathers samphire dreadful trade !Methinks he seems no bigger than his headThe fishermen, that walk upon the beach,A ppear like mice ; and you tall anchoringbark,Diminished to her cock ; * her cock, a buoyA lmost too small for Sight : the murmuring surgeThat on the unnumber’d idle pebbles chafes,Cannot be heard so high —I ’l l look no moreLest my brain turn, and the deficient sightTopple down headlong.

Glos’ter

’s Farewell to the World.

0 you mighty gods !This world I do renounce ; and, in your sights,Shake patiently my great affl iction off

If I could bear it longer, and not fallCock-boat

,a smal l boat belonging to the anchoring bark .

6 8 King Lea r.

To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,My snuff, and loathed part of nature shouldBurn itself out .

Lear on his Flatterers .

They fl atter’d me like a dog ; and told me I hadwhite hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there .

To say ay and no, to everything I said l— Ay and no

too was no good divinity. W hen the rain came to wetme once, and the wind to make me chatter ; when the

thunder would not peace at my bidding ; there I foundthem, there I smelt them out . Go to, they are not

men 0’their words ; they told me I was everything ;

’

t is a l ie I am not ague-proof.

Scene between Lear and Cordelia .

CORDELIA. How does my royal lord ? How faresyour majesty

LEAR. You do me wrong to take me out o ’ the grave.Thou art a soul in bliss : but I am boundUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tearsDo scald like molten lead.

CORDELIA. Sir, do you know meLEAR. You are a spirit, I know when did you die ?CORDELIA. Still, stil l, far widePHYSICIAN. H e

’s scarce awake let him alone awhile.

LEAR. Where have I been —Where am I —Fairday

-l igh tI ammight ily abused. - I should even die with pity,To see another thus. - I know not what to say.

I will not swear these are my hands : let’s see

I feel this pin prick. Would I were assuredOfmy condition.

CORDELIA. O, look upon me, sir,

King Lea r. 69

And hold your hands in benediction o ’er meNo, sir, you must not kneel .LEAR. Pray do not mock meI am a very fool ish fond old man,Fourscore and upwards ; and, to deal plainly,I fear I am not in my perfect mind .

Methinks I should know you, and know th is manYet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorantWhat place this is and all the skill I haveRemembers not these garments, nor I know not

Where I did lodge last n ight. Do not laugh at me ;For, as I am a man, I think this ladyTo be my child Cordel ia.CORDELIA. And so I am, I am.

LEAR. Be your tears wet ? Yes, faith, I pray, weepnot

If you have poison for me, I will drink it.I know you do not love me ; for your sistersHave, as I do remember, done me wrongYou have some cause, they have not.CORDELIA. No cause, no cause.LEAR. Am I in France ?KENT . In your own kingdom, sir.LEAR. Do not abuse me.

PHYS ICIAN. Be comforted, good madam : the greatrage,

You see, is cured in him and yet it is dangerTo make him even o

’er the time he has lost

D esire him to go in trouble him no more,Till further settl ing.CORDELIA. W ill ’t please your h ighness walk ?LEAR. You must bear with me

Pray now forget and forgive : I am old and foolish .

70 K ing Lea r

ACT V.

Lear to Cordelia when tahen P risoners .

Come, let’s away to prison

We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cageW hen thou dost ask me blessing, I ’ll kneel down ,A nd ask of thee forgiveness : so we’l l live,A nd pray, and sing , and tell old tales

,and laugh

A t gilded butterflies and hear poor roguesTalk of court news and we

’l l talk with them too,

Who loses, and who wins ; who ’s in, who’s out ;

And take upon us the mystery of th ings,A s if we were God’s spies and we

’ll wear out ,In a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones,That ebb and fl ow by the moon.

Edgar’s dgfance ofEdmund.

D raw thy swordThat ifmy speech offend a noble heart,Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine.Behold, it is the privilege ofmine honours,My oath, and my profession : I protest,Maugre thy streng th , youth, place, and eminence ,Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune,Thy valour, and thy heart,— thou art a traitorFalse to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father

Conspirant ’gainst this high illustrious princeA nd from the extremest upward of thy head,To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,A most toad—Spotted traitor. Say thou, No,

This sword, this arm,and my best spirits, are bent

To prove upon thy heart, Whereto I speak,Thou liest.

M acbeth . 7 1

Lear on the Death qf'

Cordelia .

Howl, howl, howl , howl — 0 you are men of stones ;Had I your tongues and eyes, I ’d use them so

That heaven’s vault should crack — O , she is gone forever !

I know when one is dead,and when one l ives ;

She ’

s dead as earth .—~Lend me a looking-glass ;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,Why then she lives.

as as as

This feather stirs she lives ! if it be so,

It is a chance that does redeem all sorrowsThat ever I have felt.

— 000

MACBETH .

Macbeth and Banquo, generals in the army of Duncan, kingofScotland, returning from a victorious campaign, encounter

, on

a bl ighted heath, three witches, who hail Macbeth as the future

king of Scotland. Inspired thus with a craving for royal ty, Mac

beth, in a letter,informs his wife, an ambitious and unscrupulous

woman, of the greatness that is predicted for him,

and iii order to

obtain the sovereignty he resolve s to murder the good k ing Duncan .

The virtues of the king cause him to hesitate, but his scruples

are overcome by LadyMacbe th,and he assassinates Duncan whilst

a guest in Inverness Castle . W ith the connivance of his wife,

Macbeth endeavours to cast suspicion of the murder on the guardswho sleep at the entrance to the king’s chamber ; he is, how

ever, himself suspected of the crime,especial ly by Banquo, who

has heard the prediction of the witches ; and Macbeth, remember

ing this, causes Banquo to be slain . Malcolm andDonalbain, sons

72 M aebez‘

lz.

of the deceased monarch, fly from Scotland ; the former escapesto England, where he is joined by Macdufi

‘

, a nobleman of Scot

land. They obtain assistance from England, and, with an army

commanded by Siward, Earl of Northumberland, besiege M ac

beth’

s castle , where the tyrant is slain byMacdufi'

. LadyMac

beth, a prey to remorse, and troubled with thick -coming fancies , ”dies, and Malcolm is proclaimed King .

ACT I

Description of tbe Witches.

WHAT are these ,So W i ther

’

d, and so wild in their at tireThat look not like the inhabitants o ’ the earth,And yet are on

’t ? Live you? or are you aught

That man may question You seem to understandBy each at once her choppy finger layingUpon her skinny lips -You should be women,A nd yet your beards forbid me to interpretThat you are so.

Maebet/J’

r Dirporition.

Yet do I fear thy natureIt is too ful l 0 ’ the milk of human kindness,To catch the nearest way : Thou would’st be great ;A rt not without ambition but withoutThe illness should attend it. What thou would’st

highly,That would’st thou hol ily would’st not play false,And yet would

’st wrongly win.

M agda/J’

s frrero/ution.

If it were done, when ’t is done, then ’

twere wellIt were done quickly if the assassinationCould trammel up the consequence, and catch,

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74 M aeeez’

lz.

ACT II .

Tbe Viriorzary Dagger Scene.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch

thee :I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.A rt thou not, fatal vision, sensibleTo feeling as to sight or art thou butA dagger of the mind ; a false creation ,Proceeding from the heat-Oppressed brain 9I see thee ye t, in form as palpableA s this which now I draw.

Thoumarshall ’st me the way that I was going,And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o ’ the other senses,Or else worth all the rest ; I see thee stil lAnd on thy blade, and dudgeonfi

“goutsTof blood,

Which was not so before .— There ’s no such thingIt is the bloody business, which informsThus to mine eyes.

ACT III .

M aebet/J’

r Remorse.

We have scotch’

d the snake, not kill ’d itShe ’l l close, and be herself ; whilst our poor maliceRemains in danger of her former tooth .

But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worldssuffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleepIn the affl iction of these terrible dreams,That shake us nightly better be with the dead,

The handle of the dagger. 1' Spots of blood.

M acbeth. 75

Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,Than on the torture of the mind to lieIn restless ecstasy. "6 Duncan is in his grave ;A fter life’s fitful fever, he sleeps wellTreason has done his worst nor steel , nor poison,Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,Can touch him further.

M aeheth’

s Terror a t the Ghoaz‘ of Banguo.

What man dare, I dareApproach thou like the rugged Russian bear,The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,Take any shape but that, and my firm nervesShall never tremble ; or, be alive again,A nd dare me to the desert with thy sword ;If trembling I inhibit thee

,Tprotest meThe baby of a girl . Hence, horrible shadow !

Unreal mockery, hence !

A CT IV .

M alcolm’

s Description of the Character of Macbeth.

I grant him bloody,Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful ,Sudden , malicious, smacking of every sin

That has a name.

The Qualifier which become a King.

The king-becoming graces,A s justice, verity, temperance, stableness,Bounty, perseverance, mercy, l owliness,

M ental torture .

Inhibit means to forbid the original reading is inhabit then.

76 jWachet/t .

Devotion , patience, courage, fortitude,I have no relish of them.

A D istracted Kingdom.

A las, poor countryA lmost afraid to know itself ! It cannotBe call

’d our mother, but our grave : where nothing,

But who knows noth ing , is once seen to smile ;Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,

A re made, not mark’d where violent sorrow seemsA modern ecstasy : the dead man’s knellIs there scarce ask’d, for who and good men

’s lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps,Dying, or ere they sicken.

ACT V.

Lady Macheth in the S[eep-walhing Scene.

GENTLEWOMAN. LO you, here she comes ! This isher very guise and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observeher : stand close .DOCTOR. How came she by that l ight ?GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her : she has l ight

by her continually ’t is her command.

DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open.

G ENTLEWOMAN . Ay, but their sense is shut .DOCTOR. What is it she does now 3 Look, how she

rubs her hands.GENTLEWOMAN. It is an accustomed action with her,

to seem thus washing her hands ; I have known hercontinue in this a quarter Of an hour.LADY MACBETH. Yet here ’s a spot .DOCTOR. Hark ! she speaks : I will set down what

M acbeth. 77

comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the morestrongly.LADY MACBETH. Out, damned spot ! out, I say !

One ; two ; why, then ,’t is time to do ’

t : Hell ismurky 1— Fie, my lord; fi e ! a soldier and afeard ?What need we fear who knows it, when none can cal lour power to account i— Yet who would have thoughtthe Old man to have had so much blood in him ?DOCTOR. DO you mark that ?LADY MACBETH. The thane Of Fife had a wife ;

where is she now -What, will these hands ne’erbe clean — No more 0 ’ that, my lord, no more 0

’that

you mar all with this starting.DOCTOR. GO to, go to you have known what you

should not.GENTLEWOMAN. She has spoke what she should not,

I am sure of that : heaven knows what she has known.

LADY MACBETH. Here ’s the smell Of the blood still ;

all the perfumes Of A rabia will not sweeten this littlehand. Oh ! oh ! Oh l

DOCTOR. What a Sigh is there 1 The heart is sorelycharged.

GENTLEWOMAN. I would not have such a heart inmy bosom for the dignity of the whole body.DOCTOR. Well, well , well ,GENTLEWOMAN. Pray God it be, sir.

DOCTOR. This disease is beyond my pract ice : yet Ihave known those which have walked in their sleep,who have died holily in their beds.LADY MACBETH. Wash your hands, put on your

nightgown ; look not so pale z— I tel l you yet again,Banquo ’s buried ; he cannot come out of his grave.DOCTOR. Even so.

LADY MACBETH. To bed, to bed ; there’s knocking

78 M achet/z.

at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me yourhand what ’s done, cannot be undone : to bed, to bed,to bed .

Despis ed 01d fl ge.

I have l iv'

d long enough my way of lifeIs fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf ;And that which should accompany old age,

A s honour, love, Obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have ; but in their stead

,

Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath ,Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not .

Disease: of the M ind [neurah/e.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’dPluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ;Raze out the written troubles of the brainA nd, with some sweet obl ivious antidote,Cleanse the stuff d bosom of that perilous stuffWhich weighs upon the heart ?

Ili acheth’r Dgfance of the Hostile Army.

Hang out our banners on the outward wallsThe cry is still , They come Our castle’s strengthWill laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie .

Till famine and the ague eat them upW ere they not forc’d with those that should be ours,W e might have met them dareful, beard to beard,And beat them backward home.

Reflection; on Life.

TO-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,TO the last syllable Of recorded time ;

Timon of A thefts . 79

And al l our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death . Out, out, brief candle lLife ’s but a walking shadow ; a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

,

And then is heard no more it is a taleTold by an idiot, full Of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

— 000

TIMON OF ATHENS .

T imon,a noble A thenian, lavishes his weal th on a host of

flatterers whose worthlessness he discovers when misfortunes over

take him. Convinced Of the heartlessness of his professed friends,he revenges himself on them by inviting them to a banquet

, at

which the dishes contain nothing but hot water, which he fl ingsin the faces of his guests, and himself retires to the woods and be

comes a confirmed misanthrope . In the meantime A lcibiades, an

A thenian general , has been banished from A thens by the Senate

for too vehemently interceding on behalf of a friend under sentenceof death . The banished general levies an army and besiegesA thens, the gates of which are Opened to him

,and the play con

cludes with the death of Timon and the resolve of Alcibiades to

punish his own and Timon’

s enemies . A pemantus, a churlish

philosopher, and Flavius, Timon’

s steward, are, in addition to those

named,somewhat prominent characters in the drama. Dr. John

son speak s of this play as“a domestic tragedy which strongly

fastens on the at ten tion of the reader ; in the p lan there is not

much art , but the incidents are natural , and the characters various

and exact .

ACT I.

Frima’rhzjo in Adversity.

I AM not of that feather, to shake OffMy friend when he must need me. I do know him

80 Timon of A thens .

A gentleman, that well deserves a help ,Which he shall have I ’ll pay the debt and free him.

Thepleasure of doinggaoa’.

O, you gods, think I,what need we have any friends,if we should never have need of

.them? they were the

most needless creatures l iving, should we ne’er have usefor them : and would most resemble sweet instrumentshung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves.Why

,I have often wished myself poorer, that I might

come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits : andwhat better or properer can we call our Own, than theriches of our friends ? O , what a precious comfort ’

t is,

to have somany, l ike brothers, commanding one another’sfortunes.

ACT II.

Timon’s ra h/err Extravagance.

NO care, no stop ! so senseless of expense,That he will neither know how to maintain it,Nor cease his fl ow of riot : takes no accountHow things go from him ; nor resumes no careOfwhat is to continue.

Faith/err Friends .

They answer, in a j omt and corporate voice,That now they are at fall , want treasure, cannotDO what they would ; are sorry— youare honourable,But yet they could have wish

’d— they know not— but

Something hath been amiss— a noble natureMay catch a wrench— would all were well— ’

t is p ityAnd so, intending other serious matters,After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,*

Abrup t excuses .

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2 Timon of A thens .

Ofwreakful heaven whose bare unhoused trunks,To the confl icting elements exposed,A nswer mere nature, - bid them flatter thee.

The Bountier of Nature.

Why should you want ? Behold, the earth hathroots

Within this mile break forth a hundred springsThe oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ;The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bushLays her full mess before you.

A CT V.

P romising and P erformance.

Promising is the very air 0’the time ; it Opens the

eyes of eX pectation : performance is ever the duller forhis act ; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of

people the deed Of saying is quite Out of use. TO promise is most courtly and fashionable : performance is akind of will or testament, which argues a great sicknessin his judgment that makes it .

Timon’r merrage to the fl thenianr.

Come not to me again : but say to A thens,Timon hath made his everlasting mansionUpon the beached verge Of the salt floodWhich once a day with his embossed frothThe turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come,And let my grave - stone be your oracle .

Lips, let sour words go by, and language end .

What is amiss, plague and infection mend !Graves only be men’s works : and death, their gainSun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign.

Exposed to the elements

Ti tar A na’ron icar.

TITUS ANDRONICUS .

Dr. j ohnson says, speaking of this play “A l l the editors

and critics agree with M r. Theobald in supposingit spurious . I see

no reason for differing from them ; for the colour of the style is

whol ly different from that of the other plays, and there is an

attemp t at regular versifi cation and artificial cl oses, not always in

elegant, yet seldom p leasing . That Shakspere wrote any part,*

though Theobald declares it incontestable, I see no reason for

believing . ” The play is, however, now general ly recogniz ed as

Shakspere’s,and is included in al l editions of his works

,though

its inferiority to his unquestioned plays cannot be disputed.

ACT I .

WILT thou draw near the nature of the gods 9Draw near them then in being mercifulSweet mercy is nobility’8 true badge.

Thanha.

Thanks, to menOf noble minds, is honourable meed.

A CT II.

A s when the golden sun salutes the morn,And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,Gallops the Zodiack in his glistering coach,And overlooks the highest-peering hills.

Most of the critics who considered the authorship doubtful ,admitted that Shakspere had written some portions of the play.

Ti tas A ndroni cus .

A HuntingM orning.

The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey.

The fields are fragrant, and the woods are greenUncouple here

,and let us make a bay,

And wake the emperor, and his lovely bride.

The Charms qfNature.

The birds chant melody on every bushThe snake lies rolled in the cheerful sunThe green leaves quiver with the cooling wind,And make a chequer

’d shadow on the ground.

A Gloomy Va le Dererihea'.

A barren, detested vale, you see, it IS

The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,O’

ercome with moss, and baleful mistletoe.Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds.Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.

Lav inia Singing to her Late.

0 ,had the monster seen those lily hands

Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,

He would not then have touch’d them for his lifeOr, had he heard the heavenly harmony,Which that sweet tongue hath made,He would have dropp

’d his knife and fell asleep.

ACT III .

A Father’s Appealfor M ercy.

Hear me, grave fathers noble tribunes, stayFor p

'

ty ofmine age, whose youth was spent

Ti tas A na’ronicns . 85

In dangerous wars, whilst you securely sleptFor all my blood in Rome

’s great quarrel shed ;

For all the frosty nights that I have watch’(I ;And for these bitter tears, which now you see

Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ;Be pitiful to my condemned sons.

Titus’s Vain Appeal to the Trihnner.

If they did hear,They would not mark me or, if they did mark,A ll bootless to them, they ’d not pity me .

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ;Who, though they cannot answer my distress,Yet in some sort they ’re better than the tribunes,For that they will not intercept my taleWhen I do weep, they humbly at my feetReceive my tears, and seem to weep with me ;And, were they but attired in grave weeds,Rome could afford no tribune like to these.A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stonesA stone is silent, and Offendeth not ;

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death .

Cruelty.

But how, i t that fly had a father and mother,How would he hang his slender gilded wings,A nd buzz lament ing doings in the air ?

Poor harmless fly !That with his pretty buzz ing melody,Came here to make us merry ; and thouhast kill

’

d him.

8 6 Troi lns anal Cress ida .

A CT V .

Revenge.

I am revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom,

To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind,By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes .

Come down, and welcome me to this world’s light ;Confer with me ofmurder and of death .

TRO ILUS AND CRESSIDA

This play describes the siege ofTroy by the Greeks. Troilus,

son of Priam king OfTroy, and brother of Hector,is in love with

Cressida, daughter of Calchas a Trojan priest , who takes part withthe Greeks . Pandarus, uncle of Cressida, encourages the suit of

Troilus, and he and Cressida exchange vows of fidel ity ; she, however

,proves inconstant

,and is seen in her father

’

s tent by Troilus

in the act of giving a token of love he had presented her with,to

the Grecian commander Diomedes . Hector sends a chal lenge ,daring any of the Grecian warriors to meet him in combat, which

is accepted by Ajax ; the fight takes place, but is broken off by

Hector, who embraces Ajax and is invited by the Greeks to visit

their camp . A chil les,one of the Greek Chieftains, has stood

aloof from the confl ic t in consequence of a quarrel with Agamem

non, the general - ln- chief of the Greeks, he, however, after Hec

tor’

s combat with Ajax, provokes the Trojan warrior to chal lengehim. They meet on the field of battl e, and Hector

,having put

aside his helmet,is surprised by Achil les and his myrmidons and

slain . Dr. Johnson, speakingof this p lay, says , It is more cor

rectlywritten than most of Shakspere’s compositions,but it is not

one of those in which either the extent of his views,or elevation

ofhis fancy, is ful ly di3played.

”

Troi las ana’ Cres s ida .

87

A CT I.

Troilus’

s lovefor Cress ida .

I tell thee I am madIn Cressid’s love : thou answer

’st, She IS fair ;

Pour’st in the Open ulcer ofmy heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voiceHandlest in thy discourse, O ,

that her hand,In whose comparison all whites are ink,

W riting their own reproach to whose soft seizure,The cygnet ’s down is harsh , and spirit Of senseHard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou tell ’st me ,A s true thou tell ’st me , when I say— I love her ;But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou layest in every gash that love hath given meThe knife that made it .

Respect.

I ask, that I might waken reverence,And bid the cheek be ready with a blushModest as morning when she coldly eyesThe youthful Phoebus.

A CT III.

The potency of Love.

Even such a passion doth embrace my bosomMy heart beats thicker than a feverish pulseAnd all my powers do their bestowing lose,Like vassalage at unawares encount ’ringThe eye ofmajesty.

Crerria’a’r profession of Cons tancy .

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,When time is old and hath forgot itself,

8 8 Troi lns and Cress ida .

When waterdrops have worn the stones ofTroy,A nd blind Oblivion swallow

’d cities up,

And mighty states characterless are gratedTo dusty nothing ; yet let memory,From false to false, among false maids in love,Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said— as

A s air, as water, wind, or sandy earth ,A s fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer’s calf,Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her sonYea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,As false as Cressid.

Honour.

Honour travels in a strait so narrow,

Where one but goes abreast : keep then theFor emulation hath a thousand sons,That one by one pursue : if you give way,Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,Like to an enter

’d tide, they all rush by,

And leave you hindmost.

A CT IV.

Character of Troilus .

The youngest son of Priam, a true knight ;Not yet mature, yet matchless firm of wordSpeaking in deeds, and deedless* in his tongueNot soon provoked , nor, being provoked, soon calm’

d

H is heart and hand both open and both freeFor what he has he gives, what thinks he showsYet gives he not til l judgment guides his bounty,Nor dignifies an impair-l thought with breath :Manly as Hector, but more dangerous

if

Not given to boasting .

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U Coriolanus .

popular with the common people in Rome in consequence of his

unbending austerity ; he has, however, many firm friends,and is

appointed Consul ; the appointment, however, is revoked by the

people, who are stirred up against Coriolanus by the tribunes Sici

nius Velutus and Junius Brutus, who cause him to be banished

from Rome . Indignant at the ingratitude of his countrymen, he

joins the Volscians, and is received with open arms by their general ,Tul lus Aufidius

, who divides his command with him. His coun

trymen,alarmed at the invasion of the Volscians

,send to him to

sue for peace, but he refuses to l isten to them,til l at length he is

me lted by the sol icitations of his wife Virgil ia and his mother

Volumnia. Tul lus Aufidius, j ealous of the fame and influencewhich Coriolanus has obtained amongst the Volscians, conspires,with others against him, and he is assassinated by Aufidius and the

conspirators . Dr. Johnson pronounces this to be “one of Shak

spere’

s most amusing performances . The old man’

s bluntness,

”

says he,“ in Menenius ; the lofty lady

’

s dignity in Volumnia ; thebridal modesty in Virgil ia the patrician and mil itary haughtinessin Coriolanus ; the p lebeian malighity and tribunitian haughtinessin Brutus aud S icinius

,make a very pleasing and interesting

varietv.

”

A CT I .

D escrihtion of a M oh.

WHAT would you have, you curs,That like nor peace nor war ? the one affrights you,The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,W here he should find you l ions, finds you hares :W here foxes, geese ; you are no surer, no,Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue isTo make him worthy whose Offence subdues him,

And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness,Deserves your hate : and your affect ions areA sick man’s appetite, who desires most that

Coriolanns . 9 1

Which would increase his evil. He that dependsUpon your favours swims with fins of lead,And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye Trust yeWith every minute you do change a mindAnd call him noble that was now your hate.H im vile, that was your garland.

Volumnia ’s P atriotism.

Hear me profess sincerely — had I a dozen sons,each in my love alike, and none less dear than th ineand my good Marcius,— I had rather had eleven dienobly for their country, than one voluptuously surfeitout of action.

Aafla’iar

’r Hate of Coriolanus .

Nor sleep, nor sanctuary,Being naked, sick nor fane, nor Capitol,The prayers Of priests, nor times of sacrifice,Embarquements

9K all of fury, shal l lift upTheir rotten privilege and custom ’

gainst

My hate to Marcius : where I find him,were it

A t home , upon my bro ther’s guard,-j~ even there,

Against the hospitable canon, would IWash my fierce hand in his heart .

A CT II.

P raw en of Coriolanus .

Before himHe carries noise, and behind him he leaves tearsD eath, that dark spirit , in ’

s nervyi arm doth lieW hich being advanc ’d, declines and then men die.

Embargoes . 1" My brother being his protector.

I Nervous, vigorous.

9 2 Coriolanus .

Cominiur’r Praise of Coriolanus to the Senators .

I shall lack voice : the deeds Of CoriolanusShould not be utter’d feebly. —It is heldThat valour is the chiefest virtue, andMost dignifies the haver if it bThe man I speak of cannot in the worldBe singly counterpois

’d. A t sixteen years,

When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he foughtBeyond the mark of others : our then dictator,W hom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,When with his Amazonian chin~

j he droveThe bristled lips before him he bestridAn o

’erpress

’d Roman, and i’ th’ consul ’s view

S lew three opposers Tarquin’

s self he met,And struck him on his knee q in that day ’s feats,When he might act the woman in the scene,§He proved best man i ’ the field, and for his meedWas brow-bound with the oak. H is pupil ageMan-enter

’d thus, he waxed like a sea ;

A nd, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,He lurch’dll all swords o

’the garla nd. For this last,

Before and in Corioli, let me say,

I cannot speak him home : he stopp’d the fliers ;

And by his l are example made the cowardTurn terror into sport ; as waves beforeA vessel under sail , so men Obey’dAnd fell below his stem : his sword (death

’

s stamp )Where it did mark, it took from face to footHe was a thing of blood, whose every mo tion

Possessor. j‘ Beardless chin .

I Struck him down on his knee . On account of his youth

W on easily

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94 Coriolanus .

And being angry, does forget that everHe heard the name ofdeath.

Coriolanm’r Contemptfor the M oh.

You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hateAs reek * o ’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prizeAs the dead carcases of unburied menThat do corrupt my air, I banish you ;And here remain with your uncertainty !Let every feeble rumour shake your heartsYour enemies, with nodding Of their plumes,Fan you into despair ! H ave the power stil lTo banish your defenders ; t ill, at length,Your ignorance (which finds not t ill it feels) ,Making not reservation of yourselves

( Still your own foes ) , deliver you, as mostA bated—l captives, to some nationThat won you without blows. DespisingFor you, the city, thus I turn my backThere is a world elsewhere .

A CT IV.

Fichlenesr of Friendship.

O world, thy slippery turns Friends now

sworn,Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise,Are still together, who twin, as

’twere, in love

Unseparable, shall, within this hour,On a dissension of a doit, break outTo bitterest enmity : so, fellest foes,

Exhalation. 1 Vanquished.

Coriolanas . 95

Whose passions and whose plot s have broke their sleepTo take the one the Other, by some chance,Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,And intel join their issues.

Martial Friendship.

Let me twineM ine arms about that body, where againstMy grained ash a hundred times hath broke,And scared the moon with splinters ! Here IThe anvil ofmy sword and do contestA s hotly and as nobly with thy love,A s ever in ambitious strength I didContend against thy valour. Know thou first,I lov’d the maid I married ; never manS igh

’d truer breath but that I see thee here,

Thou noble thing more dances my rapt heart,Than when I first my wedded mistress sawBestride my threshold

ACT V.

A Fa vourahle Time should be chosen to ash a Fa vour.

He was not taken well he had not dinedThe veins unfill’d, our blood is cold, and thenWe pout upon the morning, are unaptTo give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff

’d

These pipes and these conveyances of our bloodW ith wine and feeding, we have suppler soulsThan in our priest-like fasts : therefore I ’l l watch him,

Till he be dieted to my request ,And then I ’ll set upon him.

Embrace

96 Coriolanas .

Trfi exihility of Coriolanus to the Appeal qfhis Wifeand M other.

My wife comes foremost ; then the honour’d mould

W herein this trunk was fram’d, and in her hand

The grandchild to her blood. But, out affection !A ll bond and privilege Of nature, breakLet it be virtuous to be obstinate.W hat is that curt ’sey worth or those doves’ eyes,Which can make gods forsworn —I melt, and am not

Of stronger earth than others. - My mother bowsAs if O lympus to a molehill shouldIn suppl ication nod and my young boyHath an aspect of intercession, wh ichG reat nature cries , Deny not. ’ —Let the Volces

Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I’l l never

Be such a gosling to Obey in stinct ; but stand ,A s if a man were author of himself,And knew no other kin.

Coriolanus’

rehincllecl Lovefor his Wi/i’

Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out,

Even to a full disgrace. Best ofmy flesh.Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say,For that, 6‘Forgive our Romans. ” —O , a kissLong as my ex i le, sweet as my revengeNow,

by the jealous queen of heaven, that kissI carried from thee, dear and my true l ipHath virgin

’d it e’er since.

—You gods, I prateAnd the most noble mother of the worldLeave unsaluted : sink, my knee, i

’the earth

Of thy deep duty more impression showThan that of common sons .

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98 A uz‘

ouy crud Cieopuz‘m .

Pardon me , lords, ’t is the first time that ever

I was forc ’

d to scold. Your judgments, my gravelords ,

Must give this cur the l ie : and his own not ion

(Who wears my stripes impress’d on him that must bear

My beating to his grave ) , shal l join to thrustThe l ie unto him.

as as as

Cut me to p ieces, Volces : men and lads,Stain all your edges on me .

— Boy ! False hound !If you have writ your annals true ,

’t is there,

That l ike an eagle in a dove-cote, IFlutter’d your Volcians in Coriol i

A lone I did it.— Boy !

Contriz‘

z

'

on qf d zg‘fa’z

'

ur after tbe d rramz’

uatz'

on ofComb/anus .

My rage is gone,A nd I am struck with sorrow.

—Take him upHelp , three 0 ’ the chiefest soldiers I ’ll be one .

Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfullyTrail your steel pikes.— Though in this city heHath widowed and unch ilded many a one,W h ich to th is hour bewail the injury,Yet he shall have a noble memory.

000

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA .

M ark A ntony, joined in the Roman triumv irate with Octavius

Caesar and Lepidus, is passing his time in luxurious indolence in

Egypt , when intel l igence is brough t to him of the death of his

wife Fulvia, on which he repairs to Rome, where an al tercation

Autouy d ud Cleopuz‘m . 99

takes place between him and Caesar ; Lepidus interposes betweenthe disputants, and their wrangl ings are healed by the marriage of

Antony with Octavia, Caesar’s sister. The amitybetween the rival

triumvirs is, however, but of brief duration, andwar being declaredbetween them, Antony is defeated at the battle ofActium. A fter

this fatal engagement, through his ambassador Euphronius, he suesto Caesar to be permi tted to remain in Egypt, or, this not beinggranted, that he may reside as a private man at A thens . The con

queror refixses both petitions, and the strife is renewed . In a battle

by land A ntony is victorious, but his forces in a sea-fight are com

pletely vanquished, and he ends his l ife byfal ling on his own sword.

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, at whose court Antony has been re

siding,is taken prisoner by Cmsar ; whil st a cap tive she obtains

possession of an asp, a smal l venomous serpent, the bite ofwhich,when appl ied to her breast, kil ls her, and the play concludes with

an eloquent harangue from Caesar. Speaking of this play, Dr.

Johnson says it“ keeps curiosity always busy and the passions

always interested. The continual hurry of the action, the variety

of incidents,and the quick succession of one passage to another,

cal l the mind forwards without intermission, from the first act tothe last .

”

ACT I.

Antony’r luxurious mode of Liv ing.

You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,It is not Caesar’s natural vice to hateOne great competitor. From A lexandriaThis is the news : he fishes, drinks, and wastesThe lamps of night in revel ; is not more manl ikeThan Cleopatra ; nor the queen of PtolemyMore womanly than he : hardly gave audience, orVouchsaf

’d to think he had partners. You shall

thereA man, who is the abstract of all faultsThat all men follow.

I 0 0 A fl our and Cleopuz‘m.

fl nfony’s View and Virtues .

I must not think, there areEvils enough to darken all his goodnessH is faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,More fiery by night’s blackness ; hereditary,Rather than purchased what he cannot change,Than what he chooses.

Cleopatra’s Lovefor Antony.

O Charmian,Where think’st thou he is now ? Stands he or sits he 3Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse P0 happy horse, to bear the weight ofA ntony,Do bravely, horse for wot

’st thouwhom thoumov’st ?

The demi-A tlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet ofmen— He’s speaking now,

Or murmuring ; Where ’s my serpent of old Nile 9 ”

For so he calls me.

ACT I I.

Descrzjotz'

on of Cleopatra railing down the Cya’nus .

The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne,Burn’d on the water : the poop was beaten goldPurple the sails, and so perfumed, thatThe winds were love-sick with t hem : the oars were

silver ;Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and madeThe water which they beat to follow faster,A s amorous of their strokes. For her own person

,

It beggar’d all description she did lie

In her pavilion ( cloth of gold, of t issue ) ,O

’er picturing that Venus, where we see,

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1 0 2 Auz‘

ouy uud Cleopa tra .

Long ere she did appear the trees by the way,Should have borne men and expectation fainted,Longing for what it had not : nay, the dustShould have ascended to the roof of heaven,Rais

’d by your populous troops : but you are comeA market-maid to Rome ; and have preventedThe ostent ’fi‘

of our love, which left unshownIs often left unlov’d : we should have met youBy sea and land ; supplying every stageWith an augmented greeting.

Antony to bis Attendants afi er bis defi cit.

H ark, the land bids me tread no more upon ’t,

It is asham’d to bear me Friends, come hither,I ’m so lated ’

l' in the world, that I

H ave lost my way for ever I have a sh ipLaden with gold ; take that, divide it flyAnd make your peace with Caesar.I have fl ed myself ; and have instructed cowardsTo run, and show their shoulders. Friends, be -

goneI have myself resolved upon a course,Which has no need ofyou ; be-goneMy treasure

’

s in the harbour, take it . —O,

I follow’

d that I blush to look uponMy very hairs do mutiny ; for the whiteReprove the brown for rashness, and they themFor fear and doting. Friends, be-gone ; you shallHave letters from me to some friends, that willSweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sadNor make replies of loathness : take the hintWhich my despair proclaims let that. be leftWhich leaves itself : to the sea-side straightway

‘fi ‘

Exhibition. 1" Behindhand .

A nfony and Cleop a tra . I O 3

I wil l possess you of that ship and treasure.Leave me, I pray, a little ’pray you, nowNay

,do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command.

Therefore I pray you —I ’ll see you by and by.

A CT IV.

Antony faéing Leave of his Servants .

Tend me to n ightMay be it is the period of your dutyHaply, you shall not see me more ; or if,A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrowYou’l l serve another master. I look on you

A s one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,I turn you nor away ; but , l ike a masterMarried to your good service, stay till deathTend me to- night two hours, I ask no more,A nd the gods yield

alé

you for’t !

Antony’s Derpondeney.

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no moreFortune and Antony part here even hereDo we shake hands — A ll come to this — the heartsThat Spaniell

’

d me at heels, to whom I gaveTheir wishes , do discandy, melt their sweetsOn blossoming Caesar and this pine is bark’d,That overtopp

’d them al l. Betray’d I am

0 this false soul ofEgypt ! this grave charm,

W hose eye beck’d forth my wars, and cal l

’

d them home,W hose bosomwas my crownet, my chief end,Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,Beguil

’d me to the very heart of loss.

i t Requite.

1 0 4 A ntony and Cleop a tra .

Description of Cleopa tra’s supposed Dent/J.

Death of one person can be paid but onceAnd that she has discharged : what thou wouldst do,Is done unto thy hand : the last she spakeWas A ntony ! most noble A n tony !Then in the midst a tearing groan did breakThe name ofAntony ; it was dividedBetween her heart and lips she render

’d life,

Thy name so buried in her.

Cleopatra on ibe Dent/5ofAntony.

It were for meTo throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ;To tell them that this world did equal theirs,Till they had stolen our jewel . A ll ’s but nought ;Patience is sottish and impatience doesBecome a dog that ’s mad ; then is it sin,To rush into the secret house of death ,Ere death dare come to us —How do you, women 9W hat, what ? good cheer ! Why, how now, Charmian i

My noble girls —Ah, women, women ! look,Our lamp is spent, it ’s out —good sirs, take heartWe ’ll bury him and then, what ’s brave, what

’

s noble,

Let ’s do it after the high Roman fashion,And make death proud to take us. Come, away ;This case of that huge spirit now is cold.

A CT V.

Firm Resolution.

How poor an instrumentMay do a noble deed ! He brings meMy resolution

’s placed, I have nothing

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O6 M ere/rant of Venice.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Shylock ,a rich j ew of Venice, has advanced on loan three

thousand ducats to A ntonio,the M erchant of Venice

,an agree

ment being signed by which ,if the borrowed money be not repaid

by a certain period,Shylock is to claim a pound of flesh to be cut

from th e merchan t’

s body. A nton io, owing to sudden and un

foreseen losses, forfei ts the bond,and is cited before the Duke

and magnificoes ofVenice to pay the incurred penalty. The Duketries to persuade Shylock to accep t the money, which is now ready

to be paid,but , influenced by a feel ing of rancorous hatred

,he

insists on having the pound of flesh. In the meantime,Portia,

a rich heiress,just married to Bassanio, an in timate friend ofA nto

nio’

s,disguises herself as a doctor of laws

,and attends the court

where the Duke is sitting in judgment . The cause is l eft to Portiato arbitrate on ; she admits the justice of Shylock

’

s c laim,but

urges him to accept payment of the l oan in money this he

refuses to do, and she then proceeds to pronounce sentence,ex

plaining to the j ew that t he bond gives him “no j ot of blood,

”

the words being “ expressly a pound of flesh .

”

Thus bafil ed, he

agrees to take the money, but Portia further shows him that by the

laws of Venice, he, being an al ien having sought the destructionof a citiz en, has p laced his l ife at the mercy of the Duke . The

Duke pardons the j ew on condi tion tha t he turns Christian and

records a gift of al l he dies possessed ”

to Lorenz o, a Christiangentleman

, to whom his daughter Jessica is wedded. The loves

of Bassan io and Portia,and G ra tiano and Nerissa, form an agree

able episode, and the c lown, Launce lot Gobbo, Shylock’

s servant,

excites much amusement in the various scenes in which he appears .

A CT I.

The true Va lue of the

I hold the world but as the world, GratianoA stage where every man must play a part.

M erchant of Ven i ce. I 0 7

Cheeiyfulness .

Let me play the foolWith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles comeA nd let my liver rather heat with wine,Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.Why should a man, Whose blood is warm within,S it l ike his grandsire cut in alabaster 9S leep when he wakes and creep into the jaundiceBy being peevish P

Afi ctecl grav ity.

I tell thee what, Antonio,I love thee, and it is my love that speaksThere are a sort ofmen, whose visagesDo cream and mantle l ike a standing pondA nd do a wilful stillness en tertain,W ith purpose to be dress’d in an opinionOfwisdom, gravity, profound conceit ;A s who should say, I am Sir O racle,A nd, when I ope my l ips, let no dog bark !O , my A ntonio, I do know of these,That therefore only are reputed wise,For saying nothing.

Loquacity.

G ratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing , morethan any man in all Venice : his reasons are as two

grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff ; you shallseek all day ere you find them ; and when you havethem, they are not worth the search .

M ediocrity .

For aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with

1 0 8 Jlferc/zant of Ven ice.

too much, as they that starve with nothing : it is nomean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean ;superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competencylives longer.

Speculation more easy than Practice.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good todo, chapel s had been churches, and poor men’s co ttagesprinces’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows hisown instructions : I can easier teach twenty what weregood to be done, than be one of the twenty to followmine own teaching. The brain may devise laws forthe blood but a hot temper leaps over a cold decreesuch a hare is madness the youth, to skip o ’er the meshesof good counsel the cripple.

Shyloch’

s M a lice towards Antonio.

How like a fawning publican he looks !I hate him, for he is a ChristianBut more for that, in low simplicity,He lends out monev gratis, and brings downThe rate ofusance here with us in Venice.If I can catch him once upon the hip,I will feed fat the ancient grudge I hear him.

He hates our sacred nation and he rails,Even there where merchants most do congregate,On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift

,

Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,If I forgive him.

Hypocrisy .

Mark you this, Bassanio,The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

An evil soul, producing holy witness,

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I I O [Merchant of Ven ice.

Clamber not you up to the casements then,Nor thrust your head into the public street,To gaze on Christian fools with varnish

’d faces

But stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements ;

Let not the sound of shallow foppery enterMy sober house.

P ortia’s Suitors .

From the four corners of the earth they come,To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint .The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wildsOfwide A rabia, are as through -fares now,

For princes to come View fair PortiaThe watery kingdom’le whose ambitious headSpits in the face of heaven, is no barTo stop the foreign spirits but they come,A s o ’er a brook, to see fair Portia.

The Parting ofFriends .

I saw Bassanio and Antonio partBassanio told him he would make some speedOf his return he answered do not so,Slubber

'

l‘

not business for my sake, Bassanio,But stay the very rip ing of the time ;A nd for the Jew’

s bond, which he hath ofme,Let it not enter in your mind of loveBe merry, and employ your chiefest thoughtsTo courtship, and such fair ostentsI of loveA s shal l conveniently become you thereAnd even there, his eye being bigwith tears,Turning his face, he puts his hand behind him,

The ocean. 1" Do not slur over the busine ss.

I Signs, marks.

M erchant of Ven ice. I I 1

And with aff ection wondrous sensible,He wrung Bassanio’s hand, and so they parted.

Honour shoula’ he conferred on M erit only.

For who shall go aboutTo cozen fortune, and be honourableWithout the stamp ofmerit ! Let none presumeTo wear an undeserved d ignityO , that estates, degrees, and offrces,

W ere not derived corruptly ! and that clear honourW ere purchased by the merit of the wearer !How many then should cover, that stand bare ?H ow many be commanded, that command ?How much low peasantry would then be glean

’d

From the true seed of honour ? and how much honourPick

’d from the chaff and ruin of the times,

To be new varnish’

d ?

A CT III .

Shyloch’

s Revenge.

If it will feed nothing else, it wil l feed my revenge .

He hath disgraced me, and h indered me of half amill ion ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled myfriends

,heated mine enemies and what ’s his reason ?

I am a Jew. H ath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jewhands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ?fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,subj ec t to the same diseases, healed by the same means,warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, asa Christian is ? if you prick us, do we not bleed ? if

you t ickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, dowe not die ? and ifyouwrong us, shall we not revenge ?

I r2 M erchant of Venice.

if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you inthat. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humil ityrevenge : If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should hissufferance be by Christian example why, revenge . The

villany you teach me, I will execute : and it shall gohard, but I will better the instruction .

Shyloch’

s Anguish at the los s qf his Jew els .

Why there, there , there, there ! a diamond gone,

cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The cursenever fel l upon our nation t ill now ; I never fel t it t il lnow —two thousand ducats in that and other prec ious,precious jewels. —I would, my daughter were dead at

my foot, and the jewels in her ear ! ’would she were

hears’

d at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! Nonews of them ? Why, so — and I know not what ’sspent in the search : Why, thou l oss upon loss ! theth ief gone with so much, and somuch to find the th ief ;and no satisfac tion, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring,but what l ights 0

’ my shoulders ; no sighs, but 0 ’ mybreathing ; no tears, but 0

’ my shedding.

Mus ic.

Let music sound while he doth make his choice ;Then if he lose, he makes a swan-l ike end,

Fading in music that the comparisonMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream,

And wat’ry death -bed for him. He may win ;And what is music then ? then music isEven as the flourish when true subjects bowTo a new-c rowned monarch : such it is,A s are those dulcet sounds in break of day,That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’

s ear,And summon him to marriage.

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M erchant of Ven ice.

Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ?Or whether, riding on the bal ls ofmine,Seem they in motion ? Here are sever’d l ips,Parted with sugar breath so sweet a barShould sunder such sweet friends here in her hairsThe painter plays the spider ; and hath wovenA golden mesh to entrap the hearts ofmen,Faster than gnats in cobwebs : but her eyes,How could he see to do them? having made one,

Methinks, it should have power to steal both his,A nd leave itself unfurnish’d.

I ’l l have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak ;I ’ll have my bond : and therefore speak no more.I ’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool ,To shake the head

,relent, and sigh, and yield

To Christian intercessors.

ACT IV.

Shyloch’s Reasonfor Revenge.

You’l l ask me, why I rather choose to haveA weight of carrion fl esh , than to receiveThree thousand ducats : I ’ll not answer thatBut , say, it is my humour ; is it answer

’

d ?

What ifmy house be troubled with a rat,

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducat sTo have it baned if What, are you answer

’d yet ?

The qual ity ofmercy is not strain’d ;It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Poisoned.

M erchant of Ven ice. I I 5

Upon the place beneath : it is twi ce bless’dl t blesseth him that gives, and him that takes’T is mightiest in the mightiest it becomesThe throned monarch better than his crownH is sceptre shows the force of temporal powerThe attribute to awe and majesty,W herein doth sit the dread and fear of kingsBut mercy is above this scepter

’d sway,

It is enthroned in the hearts of kingsIt is an attribute to God himself ;And earthly power doth then show likest God

’3

When mercy seasons justicefi Therefore, Jew,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this,That, in the course ofjustice, none of usShould see salvation we do pray for mercyA nd that same prayer doth teach us all to renderThe deeds ofmercy. I have spoke thus much,To mitigate the justice of thy plea ;W hich if thou follow, this strict court ofVeniceMust needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.

ACT V.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bankH ere will we sit, and let the sounds ofmusicCreep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the n ight,Become the touches of sweet harmony.S it, Jessica : look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines * of bright goldThere ’s not the smallest orb, which thou behold

’st,

But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims

3: A small dish used in the sacramental service .

I I 6 M erchant of Venice.

Such harmony is in immortal souls ;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it .

Music.

Do but note a wild and wanton herd,Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,W h ich is the hot condition of their blood ;If they but hear perchance“ a trumpet sound,Or any air ofmusic touch their ears,You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze,By the sweet power ofmusic therefore, the poetD id feign that Orpheus drew trees

,stones, and floods

Since naught so stockish, hard and full of rage,But music for the time doth change his nature.The man that hath no music in himself,Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoilsThe motions of his spirit are dull as night,And his affections dark as ErebusLet no such man be trusted.

A good deed .

H ow far that l ittle candle throws his beamsSo shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Nothinggooa'out of Season.

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,

When neither is attended and, I thinkThe n ight ingale , if she should sing by day

,

When every goose is cackling, would be thought,No bett er a musician than the wren.

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I I 8 A M e'

dsammer—N zlgat’

s Dream.

To whom you are but as a form in wax,By him imprinted, and within his powerTo leave the figure, or disfigure it.

Vexatz’

om of True Lov e.

For aught that ever I could read,Could ever hear by tale or history,The course of true love never did run smooth .

I swear to thee, by Cupid’

s strongest bowBy his best arrow with the golden head ;By the simplicity ofVenus’ doves ;By that which knitteth souls, and prospers lovesA nd by that fire wh ich buru’d the Carthage queen,W hen the false Trojan under sail was seenBy all the vows that ever men have broke,In number more than ever women spokeIn that same place thou hast appointed me,To-morrow truly wil l I meet with thee.

The M oon.

When Phoebe doth beholdHer silver visage in the watery glass,Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass.

Lafoe.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,Love can transpose to form and dignity.Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mindAnd therefore is wing

’d Cupid painted blindNor hath love’s mind of any judgment tasteWings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste ;And therefore is love said to be a child,

A M idsummer-N ig/zf’

s Dream. I 1 9

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.A s waggish boys in game themselves forswear,So the boy love is perjured every where.

A CT II .

Tbe Fairy Puck.

I am that merry wanderer of the night,I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,Neighing in likeness of a filly foalAnd sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,In very likeness of a roasted crabAnd, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,A nd on her withered dew- lap pour the ale.The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,Sometimes for three foot stool mi staketh me.

Fairy Jea lousy, and toe Ej eel r of it a’ererioea’ Titania.

These are the forgeries of j ealousyAnd never, since the middle summer’s* spring,Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,By paved or by rushy brook,Or on the beached margent of the sea

To dance our ringlets to the whistl ing wind,But with thy brawls thou hast disturb

’d our sport.

Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,A s in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea

Contagious fogs which, falling in the land,Have every peltingI river made so proud,That they have overborne their continentsThe ox hath therefore stretch’( 1 his yoke in vain,

M idsummer. 1“ A pebbly stream.

I Petty, insignificant. Their banks.

I 2 o A M idsammer D ream.

The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green cornHath rot ted ere his youth attain

’d a beardThe fold stands empty in the drowned field,And crows are fatted with the murrain flockThe nine men’s morris is filled up wi th mud,A nd the quaint mazes in the wanton green,For lack of t read, are undistinguishableThe human mortals want ; their win ter here,No nigh t is now with hymn or carol bless’dTherefore the moon, the governess of floods,Pale in her anger, washes all the air,

That rheumat ic diseases do aboundAnd thorough th is distemperature, we see

The seasons alter : hoary-headed frostsFall in the fresh lap of the crimson roseA nd on old Hyem

’s chin, and icy crown ,

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer budsIs, as in mockery, set the Spring, the summer,The childingTautumn, angry winter, changeTheir wonted l iveries and the ’mazed world,By their increase, now knows not which is which .

A nd this same progeny of evils comesFrom our debate, from our dissensionWe are their parents and original .

Love in fd/enerr.

Thou remember’stS ince once I sat upon a promontory,A nd heard a mermaid, on a dolphin’s back,Uttering such dul cet and harmonious breath,That the rude sea grew civil at her song

The nine men’

s morris was an old pastime played on

green turf.

1“ Autumn bringing forth flowers unnatural ly.

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I 2 2 A M idsummer-N iger’

s D ream.

And l ight them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,

To have my love to bed, and to arise ;And pluck the wings from pain ted butterflies,To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping evesNod to him elves, and do him courtesies.

Female Friends/hip .

Is all the counsel that we two have shared,The sister’s vows, the hours that we have spent,When we have chid the hasty-footed timeFor parting us, —O ,

and is all forgot ?A ll school -days’ friendsh ip, childhood innocence PWe, Hermia, l ike two artificial gods,Have with our needles created both one flower,Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,Both warbling of one song, both in one key ;A s if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,Had been incorporate. So we grew together,Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,But yet a union in partition,Two lovely berries moulded on one stemSo, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ;Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.A nd will you rent our ancient love asunder,To join with men in scorning your poor friend PIt is not friendly, ’

t is not maidenlyOur sex , as well as I, may chide youfor it,Though I alone do feel the injury .

Daybreak.

Night’s swift dragons Cut the clouds full fast,And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger ;At whose approach, ghosts, wanderinghere and there.

Troop home to churchyards.

A M idsummer-N ight’

s D ream.

ACT IV.

The Dew in Flowers .

That same dew, which sometime on the budsWas wont to swell , like round and orient pearls,Stood now within the pretty flowret ’s eyes,Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail .

I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,When in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bearW ith hounds of Sparta : never did I hearSuch gal lant chiding for, besides the groves,The skies, the fountains, every region nearSeem’

d all one mutual cry : I never heardSo musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

A CT V.

The Power of Imagination.

The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy roll ing,Doth glance fromheaven to earth , from earth toAnd, as imagination bodies forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet

’

s penTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name.

M odest Dmfy a lways aeeepz‘

ah/e.

Where I have come, great clerks have purposedTo greet me with premeditated welcomesWhere I have seen them shiver and look pale,Make periods in the midst of sentences,

it Such cheerful sounds.

b)

I 2 4 M ae/z aa’o ahont Noth ing.

Throttle their practised accent in their fears,A nd in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,Out of this silence, yet, I pick

’d a welcome ;

And in the modesty of fearful dutyI read as much, as from the rattling tongueOf saucy and audacious eloquence.

Time.

The iron tongue ofmidnight hath told twelve.

Now the hungry lion roars,And the wolf behowls the moonWhilst the heavy ploughman snores,A ll with weary task foredone.*

Now the wasted brands do glow,

Wh ilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shroud .

Now it is the time of night,That the graves all gaping wide,

Every one lets forth his sprite,In the church -way paths to glide.

— 000

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING .

The scene opens in M essina, where Don Pedro, Prince of Arra

gon, arrives on a visit to Leonato, the governor ofM essina , Here

Claudio, a younglord of Florence, a friend of Don Pedro’s,fal ls

in love with Hero,daughter of Leonato, and they are engaged to

Overcome with fatigue .

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I 26 M ach Ado about Nothing.

would have made Hercules have turned spit ; yea, andhave cleft his club to make the fire too.

B ea trice’

s M erry D ispos ition Deserihed.

There ’s little of the melancholy element in her, mylord : she is never sad, but when she sleeps ; and not

ever sad then for I have heard my daughter say, shehath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herselfwith laughing .

B enedith’s Ridicule of Lov e.

I do much wonder that one man, seeing how muchanother man is a fool when he dedicates his behavioursto love, will , after he hath laughed at such shallow follies ih others, become the argument of his own scorn,by falling in love : And such a man is Claudio . Ihave known when there was no music with him but thedrum and the fife ; and now he would rather hear thetabor and the pipe : I have known when he would havewalked ten mile afoot to see a good armour ; and now

will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of anew doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to the

purpose, l ike an honest man, and a soldier ; and now is

he turn’d orthographer his words are a very fantasticalbanquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so

converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; Ithink not : I will not be sworn, but love may transformme to an oyster ; but I

’ll take my oath on it, t il l hehave made an oyster of me, he shall never make mesuch a fool .

Balthaz ar’

s Song.

S igh no more, ladies, sigh no more,Men were deceivers ever ;

M nch A a’o ahent N oth ing. I 2 7

One foot in sea, and one on shoreTo one thing constant neverThen sigh not so,But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny ;Converting all your sounds ofwoeInto, Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moOf dumps so dul l and heavy ;

The fraud ofmen was ever so,Since summer first was leavy,Then sigh not 80 , etc .

B enedith the B achelor’s Recantation.

This can be no trick ; the conference was sadlyborne. —They have the truth of this fromHero . Theyseem to pity the lady ; it seems her affections have theirfull bent . Love me ! why it must be requited . I hearhow I am censured : they say, I wil l bearmyself proudly,if I perceive the love come from her ; they say too, thatshe will rather die than give any sign of affection.

— I

did never think to marry —I must not seem proudhappy are they that hear their detrac tions , and can put

them to mending . They say the lady is fair ; ’t is a

truth, I can bear them witness : and virtuous — ’t is so,

I cannot reprove it : and wise , but for lovingme — bymy troth, it is no addition to her wit — nor no greatargument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love withher.

- I may chance have some odd quirks and remnantsof wit broken on me, because I have railed so longagainst marriage —but doth not the appetite alter ? Aman loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endurein his age. Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper

No longer.

M ach A a’o ahont Not/t i ng.

bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of hishumour ?

A CT III .

Royal Fa=vourites compared to Honeysnch/es .

Bid her steal into the pleached bower,Where honeysuckles ripen

’d by the sun,

Forbid the sun to en ter — l ike favourites,Made proud by princes, that advance their prideA gainst that power that bred it .

B eatrice’s disdairy

ful manner descrihea

’.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,Misprising

i ‘ what they look on and her witValues itself so highly, that to herAll matter el se seems weak ; she cannot love,Nor take no shape nor project of affection,She is so self-endeared,I never yet sawman,Howwise, how noble , young , how rarely featured,But she would spell him backward ; if fair-faced,She ’d swear the gentleman should be her sister ;If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic,Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance il l-headed ;If low, an agate very vilely cutIf speaking , why a vane blown with all windsIf silent, why a block moved with none .So turns she every man the wrong side out ;

And never gives to truth and virtue, thatWhich simpleness and merit purchaseth.

il‘ Undervaluing .

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3 0 Much Ado about Noth ing.

Nor fortune made such havoc ofmy means,Nor my bad life reft me so much of fri ends,But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,Both strength of l imb, and policy ofmind,Ability in means , and Choice of friends,To quit me of them thoroughly.

The D esire of a beloved Obj ect heightened hy its Loss .

For it so falls out ,That what we have we prize not to the worth,Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack’d and lost,Why, then we rack * the value ; then we findThe virtue, that possession would not show us

While it was ours -so will it fare with ClaudioWhen he shal l hear she died upon l

‘

his words,The idea of her life shall sweetly creepInto his study of imaginationAnd every lovely organ of her lifeShall come apparell

’d in more precious habit,More moving delicate, and full of life,Into the eye and prospect of his soul,Than when she lived indeed.

Talhing B raggarts .

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into com

pliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trimones too ; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that onlytells a lie, and swears it.

ACT V.

Counsel inqfi’ctual in M isfortune.

Men

counsel, and speak comfort to that griefOver-estimate. 1

' In consequence of.

Much A do about Nothing.

Which they themselves not feel but , tasting it ,Their counsel turns to passion , which beforeW ould give preceptial medicine to rage,Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,Charm ach with air, and agony with wordsNo, no ;

’t is all men ’s office to speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrowBut no man’s virtue, nor sufficiency,To be so moral

,when he shall endure

The like himself.

Satire on the Stoic Philosophers .

I pray thee peace : I will be flesh and bloodFor there was never yet philosopherThat could endure the tooth-ach patientlyHowever they have writ the style of gods,And made a push " at chance and sufferance.

Empty B oasters .

What man I know them, yea,

A nd what they weigh, even to the utmost scrupleScambling, out -facing, fashion-mong

’ringboys,

That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,Go anticly , and show outward hideousness,And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,A nd this is all .

Daybreah.

1 3 1

The wolves have prey’d ; and look, the gentle day,

Before the wheels of Phoebus, round aboutDapples the drowsy east with spots of gray.

Defiance .

I 32 Taming of the S hrew.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua, has two daughters, Katharina and Bianca. For the hand of the latter, Gremio and Hor

tensio are suitors Baptista, however, decl ines to assent to Bianca’smarriage til l her elder sister, Katharina, the Shrew,

has obtained a

husband . Lucentio,a gentleman of Pisa, arrives in Padua, and

falls in love with Bianca, and, in order to urge his suit,be dis.

guises himselfas a schoolmaster,and undertakes to become her ln

structor. In this assumed character he avows his passion, and aftertel l ing her that he is Lucentio, woos and marries her. Petruchio,a gent leman ofVerona

,has

,in the meantime, with the consent of

Bap tista, proffered his love to Katharina, and, after an uncouth

courtship , they are married. The chief action of the p lay consistsin the efforts made by Petruchio to curb the wild temper of his

wife ; in this he is at length completely successful,and she be

comes a model of obedience . The play concludes with an ani

mated Speech from Katharina on the duties ofwives to their hus

bands.

INDUCTION.

THY hounds shall make the welkin answer them,

And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth .

Pa inting.

Dost thou love pictures we will fetch thee straightAdonis painted by a running brookA nd Cytherea all in sedges hidWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath.

Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

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I 34 Taming of the Shrew.

And now I find report a very liarFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteousBut slow in Speech, yet Sweet as Spring-time flowers.Thou canst not frown

,thou canst not look askance,

Nor bite the l ip, as angry wenches will ;Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talkBut thouwith mildness entertain’st thy wooers,With gentle conference, soft and affable.

Why does the world report that Kate doth limpO sl anderous world ! Kate, l ike the hazel-twig,Is straight and Slender ; and as brown in hueA s hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.

ACT IV.

The M ud alone Valuable.

For ’tis the mind that makes the body richAnd as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,So honour peereth

” in the meanest habit.What ! is the jaymore precious than the lark,Because his feathers are more beautifulOr is the adder better than the eel

,

Because his painted skin contents the eyes ?0 , no, good Kate : neither art thou the worseFor this poor furniture and mean array.

ACT V.

The Wife’s Duty to her Husband.

Fie, fie ! unknit that threatening unkind brow ;And dart not scornfii l glances from those eyes,To wound thy lord, thy king , thy governorIt blots thy beauty, as frost bites the meads

A ppeareth .

Taming of the S hrew. I 35

Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds Shake fair buds ;A nd in no sense is meet, or amiable .A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming , thick, bereft of beauty ;A nd, while it is so, none so dry or thirstyWill deign to sip or touch one drop of it .Thy husband is thy lord, thy l ife, thy keeper,Thy head, thy sovereign one that cares for thee,A nd for thy maintenance commits his bodyTo painful labour, both by sea and land ;To watch the night in storms

,the day in cold,

W hile thou liest warm at home, secure and safe :A nd craves no other tribute at thy hands,But love, fair looks, and true obedienceToo l ittle payment for so great a debt .Such duty as the subjec t owes the prince,Even such a woman oweth to her husbandA nd, when she ’s froward, peevish, sullen, sour,A nd not obedient to his honest will,What is She but a foul contending rebel,A nd graceless traitor to her loving lordI am ashamed that women are so simpleTo offer war where they should kneel for peaceOr seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,W hen they are bound to serve, love, and obey.W hy are our bodies soft , and weak, and smooth.Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ,But that our soft conditions and our heartsShould well agree with our external parts ?

I 36 A l l’

s Wel l tha t E na’s Wel l .

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Helena, a favoured attendant on the Countess ofRoussil lon,is

secre tly in love with Bertram,son of the countess

,he being ignorant

of her attachment to him . The play opens with the departure of

Bertram for France, the king of which country is suffering from a

malady, which is pronounced by his physicians to be incurable .

He lena’

s father, who has been dead six months, was a physic ian of

eminence ; and she, possessing a knowledge of the virtues of some

of his prescriptions , fol lows Bertram to the Court of France,

anxious to try the effect of her father’

s prescriptions on the k ing .She obtains his majesty

’

s consent to make the trial and restores

him to heal th, claiming as her reward the hand of Bertram, who

is commanded by the French k ing to marry Helena forthwith .

Much against his incl ination, Bertram a SSf’ntS to the marriage,and

immediate ly after the ceremony orders his newly-wedded wife to

return to his mother at Roussil lon,whilst he himself departs for

the wars, and, attended by Parol l es, a vain and empty braggart, whofi gures conspicuous ly in the play, he joins the army

'

of the Duke of

Florence . Helena, in disguise, proceeds to Florence in search of

Bertram withoutmaking herself known to him, she fol lows him

home to Roussi llon,where , to the great satisfaction of his mother

and the King of France , he accepts her as his wife . Dr. Johnsonsays This play has many del ightful scenes

, though not suffi

ciently probable , and some happy characters, though not new, nor

produced by any deep knowledge ofhuman nature

A CT I.

Adv ice.

Be thou blest, Bertram and succeed thy fatherIn manners, as in Shape ! thy blood and virtue,Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodnessShare with thy birth right ! Love all, trust a few,

Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy

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I 38 A l l’

s ”fel l tha t E na’s Wel l.

G ives us free scope ; only doth backward pull,Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull .

Character of a noble Courtier.

In his youthHe had the wit, wh ich I can well observeTo-day in our young lords ; but they may jestTill their own scorn return to them unnoted,Ere they can hide their levity in honour.So like a courtier, contempt nor bit ternessWere in his pride or sharpness if they were,H is equal had awaked them and his honour,Clock to itself, knew the true minute whenException bid him speak, and at this time

,

H is tongue obey ’d his hand who were below himHe used as creatures of another placeAnd bow

’d his eminent top to their low ranks,

Making them proud of his humility,In their poor praise he humbled such a manMight be a copy to these younger times.

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother :

I am from humble, he from honour’d nameNo note upon my parents, his all nobleMy master, my dear lord he is ; and IH is servant l ive, and will his vassal die.

Helena’s Hopeless Lovefor Bertram.

Then , I confess,Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,That before you, and next unto high heaven,

Hand of a c lock ; the word clock in a previous lineused metaphorical ly.

All’

s Wel l tha t E nds Wel l . I 39

I love your sonMy fri ends were poor, but honest ; so

’s my love.

Be not offended ; for it hurts not him,

That he is lov’d ofme : I follow him not

By any token of presumptuous suit ;Nor would I have him, til l I do deserve himYet never know how that desert should be.I know I love in vain, Strive against hOpe ;Yet, in th is captious and intenible Sieve,"e

I still pour In the waters ofmy love,A nd lack not to lose still : thus, Indian like,Rel igious in mine error, I adoreThe sun, that looks upon his worshipper,But knows of him no more.

A CT I I.

Honour clue to Personal Virtue, not to B irth.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,The place is dignified by the doer

’s deed

Where great additions'l’

swe ll , and virtue none,It is a dropsied honour : good aloneIs good, without a name ; vileness is so iproperty by what it is should go,

Not by the title . She is young , wise, fair ;In these to nature she ’

s immed iate heirA nd these breed honour ; that is honour’s scorn,Which challenges itself as honour’s born,A nd is not like the sire : H onours best thrive,

Captions and intenible sieve - able to rece i ve,but not to

retain .

1‘ T itles .

1 Good is good in itself, and so is vileness vile, without refer

ence to worldly considerations .

A l l’

.r We l l l/ml E nds Wel l .

When rather from our acts we them deriveThan our fore-goers : the mere world ’s a slave,D ebauch

’d on every tomb ; on every grave,

A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,Where dust and damn’d oblivion is the tombOf honour’d bones indeed.

A CT III .

Shy-accusation of toogreat Love.

Poor lord ! is ’t IThat chase thee from thy country, and exposeThose tender limbs of th ine to the eventOFthe non -sparing war ? and is it IThat drive thee from the sportive court, where thouWas shot at with fair eyes, to be the markOf smoky muskets ? 0 you leaden messengers,That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with fal se aim move the still -piercing air,

That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord ‘Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ;Whoever charges on his forward breast,I am the caitifl that do hold him to it ;

A nd, though I kill him not, I am the causeH is death was so efiected : better ’

twereI met the ravin* lion when he roar

’d

W ith sharp cons traint of hunger : better ’twereThat all the miseries wh ich nature owesW ere mine at once : No , come thou home, Roussillon,W hence honour but of danger wins a scar,A s oft it loses all I will be goneMy being here it is that holds thee henceShal l I stay here to do ’

t ? no, no, althoughVoracious.

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4 2 A s You L z'

lee zt.

The inaudible and noiseless foot of timeS teals ere we can effect them.

Excusefor Unreasonable D ir/lee.

A t firstI stuck my choice upon her, ere my heartDurst make too hold a herald ofmy tongueWhere the impression ofmine eye infixing,Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,IVhich warp

’d the l ine of every other favour

Scorn’

d a fair colour, or express’d it stolen ;

Extended or contrac ted all proport ionsTo a most hideous object thence it came,That she, whom all men praised, and whom myself,S ince I have lost, have loved, was in mine eyeThe dust that did offend it.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

The play commences with a quarrel between the brothers Ol iver and Orlando, sons of the deceased Sir Rowland de Bois, afterwhich Orlando engages in a bout ofwrest ling with Charles, a notedwrestler, whom he overthrows. Rosal ind and Celia

, who are

cousins,and inseparable friends, witness the combat, and the former

fal ls in love with O rlando. The reigning Duke Frederick,father

of Celia, has usurped the government and banished his brother,

the rightful duke and father of Rosal ind, from his dominions.

The exiled duke retires with Jaques, a cynical lord, and other

courtiers, to the forest ofArden,where he is fol lowed by Rosalind

and Ce lia, who are accompanied by Touchstone, a c lownish servi

tor. Orlando,attended by Adam,

an old and faithful servant ,

A 3 You L lee i t. I 4 3

encounters in the forest the banished Duke and his friends ;here also he meets with Rosal ind

,and several love scenes occur

between them. In the end, the chief characters being assem

bled together,Hymen enters and joins the hands of Rosalind

and O rlando, and Celia and O liver. A t this juncture Jaques deBois

,another son of Sir Rowland, arrives, and brings intel ligence

that the usurping Duke Frederick has resolved to bequeath hiscrownto his brother and retire into sol itude, and the comedy thus

concludes. Much amusemen t is created by the clownTouchstone,

who marries Audrey, a country girl whom he has met in the forest .

Dr. Johnson says of this comedy : The fable is wild and pleasing; the character of Jaques is natural and wel l preserved ; thecomic dialogue is very sprightly, with less mixture of low bufi

'

oon

cry than in some other plays, and the graver part is elegant and

harmonious.

”

ACT I.

M odesty and Courage in Toutlr.

I BESEECH you, punish me not with your hard thoughts,wherein I confess me much guil ty, to deny so fair andexcellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes andgentle wishes go with me to my trial : wherein if I befoiled, there is but one shamed that was never graciousif killed, but one dead that is willing to be so : I shal ldo my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me ;the world no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only inthe world I fill up a place , which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

P laytfl llowr.

We still have slept together,Rose at an instant, learn’d, pl ay

’d,eat together

And wheresoe’er we went, l ike Juno’s swans,Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

{ 4 4 A s You L ike i t.

ACT II.

Solitudepreferred to a Court Life, and thefl dfvantager ofAdvers ily.

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp ? A re not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court ?Here feel we but the penalty ofAdam,

The seasons’ difi'

erence as the icy fang,A nd churlish chiding of the W i nter’s wind ;W hich, when it bites and blows upon my body,Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery : these are counsellorsThat feel ingly persuade me what I am.

Sweet are the uses of adversity ;W hich, l ike the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Rgl eetz'

onr on a wounded Slag.

DUKE. Come, shal l we go and kill us venison ?A nd yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,Being native burghers of this desert city,Should, in their own confines, with forked heads"

Have their round haunches gored.LORD. Indeed, my lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ;A nd, in that kind, swears you do more usurpThan doth your brother that hath banish’d you.

To-day, my lord ofAmiens , and myself,

The heads of arrows barbed .

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A s You Like i t.

When service should in my old limbs l ie lame,And unregarded age in corners thrownTake that : and He that doth the ravens feed,Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,

Be comfort to my age ! Here is the goldA ll this I give you Let me be your servantThough I look old, yet I am strong and lustyFor in my youth I never did applyHot and rebellious liquors to my blood .

A Lover described.

0 , thou didst then ne’er love so heartilyIf thou remember’st not the slightest follyThat ever love did make thee run into,ThOu hast not loved :Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise,

Thou hast not lovedOr if thou hast not broke from companyAbruptly, as my passion nowmakes me,Thou hast not loved .

Jagues’ description of a Fool.

A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i’ the forest,A motley fool —a miserable world 1A s I do live by food, I met a foolWho laid him down and bask’d him in the sun

,

And rail’d on lady Fortune in good terms,In good set terms,— and yet a motley fool.Good-morrow, fool,” quoth I No, sir, quothhe

,

Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortuneAnd then he drew a dial from his pokeAnd lookingon it with lack lustre eye,

A s You Like i t. 1 4 7

Says, very wisely, It is ten o’clockThus may we see, quoth he , how the world wags’T is but an hour ago, since it was nineAnd after an hour more, ’

twill be elevenA nd so, from hour to hour, we ripe, and ripe ,And then, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot,

A nd thereby hangs a tale 1” When I did hear

The motley fool thus moral on the time,My lungs began to crow like Chanticleer,That fools should be so deep-contemplativeAnd I did laugh sans intermission,An hour by his dial .— O noble fool IA worthy fool I Motley ’s the only wear . "6

A Fool ’s Liberty of Speed) .

I must have libertyWithal

,as large a Charter as the wind,

To blow on him I please : for so fools haveAnd they that are most galled with my follyThey most must laugh And Why, sir, must they so

The w iry is plain as way to parish churchHe, that a fool doth very wisely hit ,Doth very foolishly, although he smart ,Not to seem senseless of the bob ; j ‘ if not,The wise man’s folly is anatomisedEven by the squand

’ringglances of the fool .

x4gentle P etition.

But whate’er you are,That in this desert inaccessible,

A l luding to the parti-coloured garment worn by the ancient

1‘ Bob— hit, blow.

4 8 A s You Like i t.

Under the shade ofmelancholy boughs,Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ;If ever you have look

’d on better days,If ever been where bells have knoll’d to churchIf ever sat at any good man ’s feast ;If ever from your eye-lids wiped a tear,And know what ’

t is to pity and be pitied,Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.

Tke Seven Ages of M an.

A ll the world ’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely playersThey have their exits and their en trancesAnd one man in his time plays many parts,H is acts being seven ages . A t first the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse’s armsAnd then , the whining school-boy, with his satchel,And shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwill ingly to school ; and then, the lover ;Sighing like furnace, with a woful balladMade to his mistress’ eye-brow. Then a soldier ;Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honour

,sudden and quick in quarrel ,

Seeking the bubble reputat ionEven in the cannon ’s mouth And then, the justice ;In fair round belly, with good capon lined,With eyes severe, and beard offormal cut ,Full ofwise saws and modern instancesAnd so he plays his part The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slipper

’d pantaloonWith spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;H is youthful hose well sav’d, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank ; and his bigmanly voice,Turningagain toward childish treble, pipes

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I 50 A s You L ike i t.

nature nor art, may complain of good breedingfi" orcomes of a very dull kindred .

Ckaraeter of an Hones t and Simple Skepkerd.

Sir, I am a true labourer I earn that I eat , get thatI wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man ’s happiness ;glad of other men’s good, content with my harm y}and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze ,and my lambs suck.

Humorous Description of a Lower.

A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye,and sunken ; which you have not : an unquestionablespirit ; which you have not : a beard neglected ; which

you have not — (but I pardon you for that ; for, simply, your having in heard is a younger brother

’s reve

nue ) - Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied,and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man : you are ratherpoint-devicei in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seemingthe lover of any other.

Real Pa ssion D issembled.

Think not I love him, though I ask for him’T is but a peevish boy —

yet he talks wellBut what care I for words ? yet words do well ,When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.It is a pretty youth - not very prettyBut, sure, he ’

s proud ; and yet his pride becomes him.

H e ’ll make a proper man the best thing in himIs his complexion and faster than his tongue

The want of good breeding .f Content with my own misfortunes . I Over careful .

A s You L ike i t.

Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.

He is not tall yet for his years he’s tall

H is leg is but so-so and yet’t is well :

There was a pretty redness in his lip :A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix ’d in his cheek ; ’

twas just the difference

Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

There be some women , S ilvius, had they mark’d himIn parcels as I did, would have gone nearTo fall in

“

love with him but , for my part,I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love himFor what had he to do to chide at me ?He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair blackAnd, now I am remember’d, scorn

’d at me

I marvel why I answer’d not again

But that ’s all one ; omittance is no quittance.

A CT IV.

Jaques’ Description of M elanekoly.

I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is

emulation nor the musician’s, which is fantastical ;nor the courtier’s, which is proud ; nor the soldier’s,wh ich is ambitious ; nor the lawyer

’

s, which is politicnor the lady’s, which is nice nor the lover’s, whichis all these.

Marriage alters tke Temper.

Men are April when they woo, December when theywed ; maids are Maywhen they are maids, but the skychanges when they are wives. I wil l be more jealous

A ssumed, feigned.

1 52 A s YouLike i t.

of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen ; moreclamorous than a parrot against rain more new-fangledthan an ape ; more giddy in my desires than a monkeyI will weep for nothing, like D iana in the fountain,and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry .

Oli ver’s Exposure to Danger

fwkilst Sleeping.

Under an oak , whose boughs were moss’d with age,

And high top bald with dry antiquity,A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair,Lay sleeping on his back ; about his neckA green and gilded snake had wreath’d itself,Who with her head, nimble in threats , approach

’d

The opening ofhis mouth but suddenlySeeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself,And with indented glides did slip awayInto a bush under which bush’s shadeA lioness with udders all drawn dry,Lay couch ing, head on ground, with cat-like watch ,W hen that sleeping man should stir : for ’

t is

The royal disposition of that beastTo prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.

A CT V.

Humorous Epilogue spoken by Rosalind.

It 18 not the fashion to see the lady the epiloguebut it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord theprologue. If it be true that “ good wine needs no

bush,” ’t is true that a good play needs no epilogue

Yet to good wine they do use good bushes ; and goodplays prove the better by the help of good epilogues .

What a case am I in then , that am neither a good epi

logue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a

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I 54 Comedy of E rrors .

law. Mr. Steevens,the learned commentator on Shakspere, re

marks, that this comedy exhibits more intricacy of plot thandistinction of character ; and that attention is not actively en

gaged,since every one can tel l how the denouement wil l be

effected.

”

A CT II.

Man’s Pre-eminence.

THERE ’S nothing situate under Heaven ’s eye

But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, in skyThe beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,A re their males’ subjects, and at their controlsMen, more divine, the masters of all these,Lords of the wide world, and wild watery seas,Endued with intellectual sense and souls,Ofmore pre-eminence than fish and fowls,A re masters to their females, and their lordsThen let your will attend on their accords.

Patience more easily taugkt tlJanpractised.

Patience, unmoved, no marvel though she pause,They can be meek that have no other cause.A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,W e bid be quiet when we hear it cryBut were we burden’d with like weight of pain,A s much, or more , we should ourselves complain.

Defamation.

I see the jewel, best enamelled,Wil l lose his beauty and though gold ’bides still,That others touch, yet often touching willWear gold ; and so no man, that bath a name,But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.

Comedy of E rrors . I 55

A CT IV.

Description of a Cruel Master.

I have served him from the hour of my nativity tothis instant, and have nothing at his hands for my ser

vice but blows . When I am cold, he heats me with heating; when I am warm, he cools me with heating: Iamwakedwith it when I sleep ; raised with it when I sitdriven out ofdoors with it when I go from home ; welcomed home with it when I return nay, I bear it onmyshoulders as a beggarwont" her brat ; and, I think,whenhe hath lamed me, I shall begwith it from door to door .

A CT V.

Description of a Fartane-teller .

A hungry lean-faced villainA mere anatomy, a mountebank,A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-tel lerA needy hollow-eyed, sharp-lookingwretch,A living dead man : this pernicious slave,Forsooth, took on him as a conjurerA nd, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,A nd with no face, as ’

twere, outfacing me,Cri es out I was possess

’d.

Though now this grained‘

f face ofmine beIn sap

-consuming winter’s drizzled snow,

A nd all the conduits of my blood froz e upYet hath my n ight of life some memory,My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left,My dull deaf ears a little use to hear

Is accustomed to carry. 1' Wrinkled, rurrowed.

I 56 Loue’

s Lakour’

s Los t.

A ll these old witnesses ( I cannot err)Tell me, thou art my son Ant ipholus.

LOVE’

S LABOUR’S LOST.

Biron, Longavil le, and Dumain, lords of the Court ofNavarre ,

together with Ferdinand,King of Navarre

,agree to spend three

years in entire seclusion from female society, and to devote their

t ime to the pursuit of knowledge . No sooner have they decided

on this than the Princess of France, at tended by three of her ladies,

Rosal ine, Maria,and Katharine, arrives at Navarre, in embassy,

respecting the restitution of the province of Aquitain to her sick

and bed-ridden father. Notwithstanding the misanthropical resolution he has made

,the king grants audience to th e princess

,and

fal ls in love with her,whilst his three courtiers become enamoured

with Rosal ine, M aria,and Katharine . Aftermuch good-humoured

rail lery from the ladies,the gentlemen repent of their cynical

resolve,and each of them is promised the hand of the lady of his

heart, at the end ofa year, during which period a penance of retire

ment from the world is imposed by the princess and her friends ontheir lovers. This comedy is said to have been played before(amen Elizabeth at the Christmas of 1 597 . Dr. Johnson says,“There are many passages in it mean, childish

,and vulgar ; but

there are scattered through the whole many sparks of genius ; nor

is there any play that has more evident marks of the hand of

Shakspere .

”

A CT I.

Self-Denial .

BRAVE conquerors for so you are,

That war against your own affections,And the huge army of the world’s desir

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I 58 Love’

s Lakour’

s Los t.

Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,Not utter’d by base sale ofchapmen

’s tongues.*

B iron’s M irtlgfulness descriked.

A merrier man,Within the limit of becoming mirth ,I never spent an hour’s talk withalH is eye begets occasion for his witFor every object that the one doth catch ,The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ;Which his fair tongue ( conceit

’s expositor )

D elivers in such apt and gracious words,That aged ears play truant at his tales,A nd younger hearings are quite ravished ;So sweet and voluble in his discourse.

ACT IV.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye

(’

Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument )Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment.

A woman I foreswore ; but, I wil l prove,Thou being a goddess, I foreswore n0 t thee

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;Thy grace being gain

’d, cures all disgrace in meVows are but breath, and breath a vapour is ;Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost. shine,

Exhal’st this vapour vow in thee it isIf broken, then, it is no fault ofmine ;

If by me broke. What fool is not so wise,To lose an oath to win a paradise ?

Chapman, a dealer or seller.

Love’

s Labour’

s Los t.

P ower of Lov e

But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes,Lives not alone immured in the brainBut, with the motion of all elements,Courses as swift as thought in every powerA nd gives to every power a double power,Above their functions and their offices.It adds a precious seeing to the eye

A lover’s eyes wil l gaze an eagle blindA lover’s ear wil l hear the lowest sound ,When the suspicious head of theft is stopp

’

d ;

Love’s feeling is more soft and sensibleThan are the tender horns of cockled snailsLove’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste ;For valour, i s not love a Hercules,Still c limbing trees in the Hesperides ?Subtle as Sphinx as sweet and musicalA s bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hairAnd, when love speaks, the voice of all the godsMakes heaven drowsy with the harmony.Never durst poet touch a pen to write

Until his ink were temper’d with love’3 sighs

0 , then his lines would ravage savage ears,And plant in tyrants mild humility.

Woman’

s Eyes .

From woman ’s eyes this doctrine I deriveThey sparkle stil l the right Promethean fireThey are the books, the arts, the academesThat show, contain, and nourish all the world.

59

I 60 e asure for M easure.

MEASURE FOR MEA SURE.

Vincentio, Duke of Vienna, announces his!

intention to leave

his dominions and travel in Poland. Taking leave of his friends,

he deputes Angelo, assisted by Escalus (both of them lords of his

court) , to govern in his absence . Instead, however, of taking hisdeparture

,the Duke disguises himself as a friar, and remains in

V ienna, being desirous of ascertaining how justice is administered

when he is an absentee . No sooner has he disappeared from the

court than Angelo, reviving an obsolete law,commits Claudio, a

young gentleman in love with Jul iet, to prison, and inhumanly con

demus him to death. Isabel la, Claudio's sister, a lady of exal ted

character,who is about to enter a nunnery, becomes a suppliant to

Angelo for her brother’s l ife ; she, however, sues in vain, and

Claudio is left for execution . An interview between the brother

and sister takes place in the prison,and their conversation is over

heard by the Duke, who thus is made aware of the harsh manner

in which Angelo is overstraining the laws . A t length the Dukethrows off his disguise, and condemns Angelo to death, whom he,

however, subsequently pardons at the intercession of Isabella.

Claudio is released and marries Jul iet,and the Duke himself,

charmed with the nobil ity of character and piety of Isabel la, offersher his hand. Dr. Johnson, speakingof“Measure forMeasure,

”

says“The l ight or comic part is very natural and pleasing; but

the grave scenes (a few passages excep ted) , have more labour thanelegance ; the plot is rather intricate than artful .

”

A CT I.

Virtue giv en to do Exerted.

HEAVEN cloth with us as we with torches do ;Not light them for themselves for if our virtuesD id not go forth ofus, ’

twere all alikeAs ifwe had them not. Spirits are not finely touch’d,

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I 6 2 fl] easa re for M easure.

Tke Duty of Forgiveness .

A las alasWhy, all the souls that were, were forfeit once,A nd he that might the vantage best have tookFound out the remedy. How would you be,IfH e, wh ich is the top of judgment , shouldBut judge you as you are ? 0 ,

th ink on that ;A nd mercy then wil l breathe within your l ips,Like man new made.

TlJe Akuse of P ower .

0 , it is excellentTo have a giant

’s strength but it is tyrannous

To use it l ike a giant .

T/Je Abuse of Autkority.

Could great men thunderA s Jove h imself does, Jove would ne’er be quiet,For every pe l t ing,

* petty offi cer,IVould use his heaven for thunder ; nothing but thunderMerc iful HeavenThou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,Splitt

’st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,

Than the soft myrtle : 0 , but man, proud man ‘Drest in a l it tle brief authorityMo s t ignorant ofwhat he ’

s most assured,H is glas sy essence ,

—l ike an angry ape ,

Plays such fantastic tricks before h igh heaven,A s make the angel s weep.

T/Je P riv ilege of Ant/rarity.

That in the captain’s but a choleric word,Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

M ean despicable .

M easure for M easure. I 63

ACT III .

The miserable have no other medicine,But only hope.

Tke Vanity of Life.

Reason thus with life,If I do lose thee, I do lose a thingThat none but fools would keep a breath thou art

( Servile to all the skyey influences . )That dost this habitation

,where thou keep

’st,

Hourly afil ict : merely, thou art death’s foolFor him thou labourest by thy fl ight to shun,A nd yet runs

’t toward him still thou art not noble

For all the accommodations that thou hear’stA re nursed by baseness : thou art by no means valiant ;For thou dost fear the soft and tender forkOf a poor worm : thy best of rest is sleep,And that thou oft provok

’st, yet grossly fear

’st

Thy death , which is no more thou art not thyselfFor thou exist

’

st on many a thousand grainsThat issue out of dust : happy thou art not ;

For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get

And what thou hast, forget’st thou art not Certain

For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,*

A fter the moon if thou art rich , thou art poorFor, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,Thou bear’st thy heavy riches but a j ourney,And death unloads thee : friend hast thou noneFor thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,The mere effusion of thy proper loins,Do curse the gout, and the rheum,

Affections. 1" A Leprous disease.

I 64 M easure for M easure.

For ending thee no sooner : thouhast nor youth nor ageBut, as it were, an after -dinner’s sleep,D reaming on both for all thy blessed youthBecomes as aged, and doth beg the armsOf palsied eld and when thou art old and rich,Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,To make thy riches pleasant. What ’s yet in thisThat bears the name of l ife . Yet in this l ifeLie hid more thousand deaths yet death we fear,That makes these odds all even.

Tbc Terrors of Deatls ckigfly in Apprekension.

O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quakeLest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,A nd six or seven winters more respectThan a perpetual honour. Darest thoudie 9The sense of death is most in apprehensionA nd the poor beetle that we tread upon,In corporal sufferance finds a pangas greatA s when a giant dies.

Tke Fear of Deatk.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not whereTo lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ;

This sensible warmmotion to becomeA kneaded clod ; and the delighted spiritTo bathe in fiery floods, or to resideIn thrilling regions of thick-ribb’d ice ;To be imprison

’d in the viewless '

j' winds.

And blown with restless violence aboutThe pendent world or to be worse than worstOf those, that lawless and incertain thoughtsImagine howling —’t is too horrible !

Old age . 1“ Invisible .

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I 66 Cymeel z'

fl e.

ACT II .

Imogen reading in éed.

Mine eyes are weakFold down the leafwhere I have left : to bedTake not away the taper, leave it burningAnd if thou canst awake by four 0 ’ the clock,I pr’ythee, cal l me. Sleep hath seized me wholly .

To your protection, I commend me, gods ’

From fairies, and the tempters of the night,Guard me, beseech ye !

[megerz rfeeping.

I‘

is her breathing thatPerfumes the chamber thus : the flame o ’ the taperBows towards her, and would underpeep her l ids,To see the enclosed l ights, now canopiedUnder these windows, white and azure, lacedWith blue, of heaven

’

s own tinctfi“

96 96" i t

On her left breastA mole cinque -spotted, like the crimson dropsI ’ the bottom of a cowsl ip .

Sang.

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,And Phoebus gins arise,

H is steeds to water at those springsOn chalic

’d flowers that l ies ;

And winking Mary-buds beginTo ope their golden eyes

With every th ing that pretty binMy lady sweet, arise

A rise, arise.The blue veins intersectingthe white sku

Gymeel z'

rze. I 67

’T is go ldWhich makes the true man kill ’d, and saves the th iefNay, somet ime, hangs both thief and true man : whatCan it not do, and undo ?

A CT III.

Impatience qf Imogen to meet be?“ bureafl d P ort/Jamar.

O , for a horse with wings I— Hear'st thou, Pisanio,He is at Milford-Haven read, and tell meHow far

’

t is thither. If one ofmean affairsMay plod it in a week, why may not IG lide thither in a day -Then , true Pisanio,(Who long

’

st, like me, to see thy lord ; who long’st

O,let me

’bate, -but not like me —yet long

’st

But in a fainter kind -O, not like me ;For mine

’

s beyond beyond) , say, and speak thick 'x'

( Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,

To the smothering of the sense ) , how far it isTo this same blessed Milford ; and, by the way,Tell me how W ales was made so happy, asTo inherit such a haven. But, first of all,How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gapThat we shall make in time, from our hence-going,And our return, to excuse.

B elariur’Dererzpz

‘

z

'

an of li fe Bad e/i ntent.

Two villains, whose false oaths prevail’

d

Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,I was confederate with the Romans : so,

Follow’d my banishment ; and, this twenty years,

Rapidly.

I 6 8 Cymeel z'

ne.

This rock and these demesnes have been my worldWhere I have l iv’d at honest freedom paidMore pious debts to heaven, than in allThe fore-end ofmy time.~ —But , up to the mountainsThis is not hunters’ language z— He, that strikesThe venison first, shall be the lord o

’the feast

To him the other two shall ministerAnd we will fear no poison, which attendsIn place of greater state.

Tire Foree of Nature.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of natureThese boys know little they are sons to the king ;Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine : and though train’d up thus

meanlyI’ the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hitThe roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them,

In simple and low things, to prince it muchBeyond the trick of others. This Polydore,The heir ofCymbeline and Britain , whomThe king his father called Guiderius— JoveWhen on my three-foo t stool I sit, and tellThe warl ike feats I have done, his spirits fly out

Into my story : say, Thus mine enemy fel lAnd thus I set my foot on his neck even thenThe princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,S trains his young nerves, and puts himself in postureThat acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,(Once A rviragus ) , in as like a figure,S trikes life into my speech, and shows much moreH is own conceiving.

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I 7O Cyméel z'

fl e.

Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages ;

Golden lads and girls all must

A s chimney sweepers, come to dust .

Fear no more the frown o ’ the great,Thou are past the tyrant’s stroke,

Care no more to clothe and eat

To thee the reed is as the oak

The sceptre, learning, physic, mustAll follow this, and come to dust .

Fear no more the lightning flash,Nor the al l-dreaded thunder stone

Fear not slander, censure rashThou hast fi nish’d joy and moan

A ll lovers young, all lovers mustConsign to thee, and come to dust

No exorciser harm thee !

Nor no witchcraft charm theeGhost unlaid forbear theeNothing ill come near theeQuiet consummat ion have ;A nd renowned be thy grave

A CT V.

1 4 Routea’ d rmy.

No blame be to you, sir ; for al l was lost,But that the heavens fought : the king himselfOf his wings destitute , the army broken ,A nd but the backs of Britons seen , all flying

OZ/zel le. I 7 1

Through a straight lane the enemy, ful l-hearted,Loll ing the tongue with slaughtering, having workMore plentiful than tool s to do ’t, struck downSome mortally, some sl ightly touch’d, some fallingMerely through fear that the straigh t pass was darnm’

d

W ith dead men, hurt behind, and cowards livingTo die with lengthen

’d shame.

— 000

OTHELLO .

O thel lo,a val iant Moor

,has won the afi ections ofDesdemona,

the daughter of Brabantio, a senator ofVenice,and married her,

unknown to her father. On hearing of the marriage,Brabantio

is greatly irritated, and summons O thel lo before the Duke and

Senators, where the M oor justifies his conduct , and is sent to Cyprusto command the Venetian forces against the Turk s

,who have

despatched a fleet against Cyprus . O thel lo arrives at Cyprus, whereDesdemona

,by previous arrangement

,fol lows him. Here Iago,

who is a vil lain of the deepest dye, plots with Roderigo, a fool ishVene tian

,against O thel lo and his lieutenant Cassio . In the

meantime, O thel lo, incited to the act by Iago, murdersDesdemona

,

and stabs himself, fal ling dead by her side . Iago , who compl eteshis career of crime by stabbing his wife Emil ia, is condemned to

the torture, as a punishment for his wicked actions . Of this

tragedy, Dr. Johnson remarks,“ The fiery openness of O thel lo ;

magnan imous, art less, and credulous ; boundless in his confidence,

ardent in his affections,inflexible in his resolution

,and obdurate in

his revenge ; the soft simpl icity ofDesdemona, confident ofmerit

,

and conscious of innocence ; the cool malignity of Iago, silent inh is resentment

,subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his

interest and his vengeance,are such proofs of Shakspere ’s skil l in

human nature,

as I suppose it is vain to seek in anv modern

writer.

”

1 72 Ot/zel lo.

A CT I.

l ago’r Ditpraire ofHonesty.

WE cannot all be masters, nor al l mastersCannot be truly followed. You shall markMany a duteous and knee—crooking knave,That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,Wears out his time, much l ike his master’s ass,For naught but provender ; and when he ’s old, cashier

’

d

Wh ip me such honest knaves. O thers there areWho, trimm’d in forms and visages of duty,Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,A nd, throwing but shows of service on their lords,Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lined

their coats,Do themselves homage : these fellows have some soul,And such a one do I profess myself.For, sir,I t is as sure as you are Roderigo,Were I the Moor, I would not be IagoIn followinghim, I follow but myself;Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,But seeming so, for my peculiar endFor when my outward action doth demonstrateThe native act and figure ofmy heartIn compliment extern,*

’t is not long after

But I wil l wear my heart upon my sleeveFor claws to peck at : I am not what I am.

Love the sole inducementfor Othello to marry

For know, Iago,But that I love the gentle Desdemona,I would not my unhoused free condition

In merely external civility.

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I 74 Or/i el lo.

And sold to slavery ofmy redemption thence,A nd portance* in my travel ’3 history.W herein of antres vast, and deserts idledRough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touei‘heaven,

It was my h int to speak, such was the process ;A nd of the Cannibals that each other eat,The A nthropophagi, and men whose headsDo g l ow beneath their shoulders.These things to hear,Would Desdemona seriously incl ineBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,Wh ich ever as she could with haste despatch

,

She ’d come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse : which I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard,But not intentively :I I did consent,A nd often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat my youth suffer

’

d. My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighsShe swore, — in faith, ’

twas strange,’twas passing

strange’Twas pitiful , ’

twas wondrous pitifulShe wish

’d she had not heard it : yet she wish

’d

That heaven had made her such a man she thank’

d

me

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,

Behaviour. TIdle is used to signify barren .

I Intention and attention were once synonymous. A ttentively

Ot/zel lo I 75

I should but teach him how to tell my story,And that would woo her. Upon this hint IShe lov

’d me for the dangers I had pass

’

d ;

And I lov’

d her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft I have used.

Acr II .

Ol/aello’r j oy at Desdemona

’

s arrival at Cyprus .

0 my soul ’s joy !If after every tempest come such calms,May the winds blow til l they have waken’d deathA nd let the labouring bark cl imb hills of seasOlympus-h igh, and duck again as lowA s he ll ’s from heaven If it were now to die,’Twere now to be most happy for, I fear,My soul hath her content so absolute,That not ano ther comfort like to thisSucceeds in unknown fate.

A CT III.

Othello’s passionate lov e for Desdemona .

Excellent wretch i” Perdition catch my soul,But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not,Chaos is come again.

Ol laello’r mi staken estimate of Iago

’s character.

I know thou art full of love and honesty,And weigh

’st thywords before thougiv

’

st thembreathTherefore these stops of thine fright me the moreFor such things, in a false disloyal knave,Are tricks of custom but, in a man that’s just,

Used here as a term of endearment.

I 76 Ot/zel io.

They are close denotements, working from the heart,That passion cannot rule.

Reputa tion.

Good name, in man and woman,clear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls ;Who steals my purse, steals trash ;

’t is something,

nothing ;"Fwas mine, ’

t is his, and has been slave to thousands ;But he, that filches fromme my good name,Robs me of that which not enriches him,

A nd makes me poor indeed.

Jea lousy.

Trifles, light as air,A re, to the jealous, confirmations strongA s proofs ofHoly Writ.

OtlaellO’

s Farewell Speech.

0 now, for ever,Farewell the tranquil mind farewell co ntent !Farewel l the plumed troop

,and the bigwars,

That make ambition virtue ! O, farewel l 3Farewell the neighing steed, and the shril l trump,The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing life,The royal banner ; and all qual ity,Pride, pomp, and c ircumstance ofglorious war !And O you mortal engines , whose rude threatsThe immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,Farewell ! O thello ’s occupation ’s gone !

l ogo’s Hypocrisy.

O wretched fool,That liv’st to make thine honesty a vice

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I 78 Othello.

More tedious than the dial eight score times ?0 weary reckoning !

ACT IV.

Othello’r D isordered M ind described.

The lethargy must have his quiet courseIf not, he foams at mouth and, by and by,B reaks out to savage madness. Look

,he stirs

Do youwithdraw yourself a little while,He will recover straight ; when he is gone,I would on great occasion speak with you.

Woman’3 Tears .

If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.

Scene oetween Othello and Desdemona.

DESDEMONA. A las, the heavy day — Why do youweep

Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord ?If, haply, you my father do suspect,A n instrument of this your calling back,Lay not your blame on me ; ifyou have lost him,

Why, I have lost him too.

OTHELLo. Had it pleas’d H eaven

To try me with affl iction had he rain’dA ll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ;S teep

’d me in poverty to the very lips ;G iven to captivity me and my utmost hopesI should have found in some part ofmy soulA drop of patience : but, alas ! to make meA fixed figure, for the hand of scornTo point his slow unmoving finger at,

Gauze. I 79

Yet I could bear that too well , very wellBut there, where I have garner’d up my heart ;Where either I must live, or bear no l ife ;The fountain from the which my current runs,Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence !Or keep it as a c istern for foul toadsTo knot and gender in — Turn thy complexion there !Patience, thou young and rose-lipp

’d cherubim

Ay, there , look grim as hell

Emilia’r fndignation against Slanderers .

I will be hang’d, if some eternal villain ,Some busy and insinuating rogue,Some cogging cozening slave, to get some ofiice,Hath not devis’d this slander ; I ’ll be hanged else.

it at as at 96

The Moor ’s abus’d by some most villanous knave,Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellowO heaven, that such companions thou’

dst unfold,A nd put in every honest hand a whip,To lash the rascals naked through the world,Even from the east to the west !

Desdemona’s P resentiment of her Deat/a.

My mother had a maid call’d— Barbara

She was in love ; and he, she lov’

d, prov’d mad,

A nd did forsake her she had a songof willow,

An old th ing ‘

twas, but it eXpress’

d her fortune,And she died singing it : That song , to-night,Will not go from my mind I have much to do,But to go hang my head all at one side,And sing it like poor Barbara

Fel lows .

I 80 Othel lo.

ACT V.

Othello’s Scene w ithDesdemona in the B ed-chamber

he hills her.

It i s the cause, it is the cause, my soul,Let me not name it to you, you chaste starsIt is the cause — Yet I ’ll not shed her bloodNor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,

And smooth as monumental alabaster.Yet she must die, else she ’ll betray more men.

Put out the light, and then— put out the lightIf I quench thee, thou flaming minister,I can again thy former light restore,Should I repent me : but once put out thine,Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,I knownot where is that Promethean heat,That can thy light relume . When I have pluck

’d thy

rose,I cannot give it vital growth again ,It needs must wither z— I ’ll smell it on the tree.

[Kirring her.

O balmy breath, that dost almost persuadeJustice to break her sword — One more, one more .

Be thus when thou art dead, and I wil l kill thee,A nd love thee after . —One more, and this the lastSo sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,But they are cruel tears this sorrow’

s heavenlyIt strikes where it doth love.

Othello’s P erplexity after the M urder.

Yes —’t is Emilia —by and by. She ’

s dead.’T is like she comes to speak of Cassio’s deathThe noise was high— Ha no more moving

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I 8 2 Othel lo.

Othello’

s Speech before he Kills himself:

Soft you a word or two before you go .I have done the state some service, and they know itNo more of that. I pray you, in your letters,When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,Speak ofme as I am nothing extenuate,Nor set down aught in malice then must you speakOf one, that loved not wisely, but too wellOf one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,Perplex

’d in the extreme of one, whose hand,

Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away,Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose subdu’d eyes,A lbeit unus’d to the melting mood,D rop tears as fast as the A rabian treesTheir medicinal gum. Set you down thl SA nd say besides, —that in A leppo once,Where a malignant and a turban’d TurkBeat aVenetian, and traduc

’d the state,

I took by the throat the circumcised dog,And smote him— thus . [Stahs himself.

Ludov ico’s Denunciation of Iago.

O Spartan dog,More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea lLook on the tragic loading of this bedThis is thy work— the object poisons sight

Let i t be hid .

—G ratiano, keep the house,A nd seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,For they succeed to you.

—To you, lord governor,Remains the censure of this hellish villainThe time, the place, the torture, -O enforce it !Myselfwil l straight aboard and, to the state,

This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

Romeo and S‘ul iet. I 8 3

ROMEO AND JULIET.

A deadly feud exists between the noble famil ies of Capulet andMontague, who reside in Verona. Romeo, son ofM on tague

,and

Juliet, daughter of Capulet, become violently enamoured with each

other, and are privately married, unknown to their friends,by

Laurence, a Franciscan friar. Shortly after their marriage, Tybal t,one of the Capulet faction, in a street brawl , k il ls M ercutio , and

is himself k il led by Romeo . For this Romeo is exiled by the

Prince ofVerona,and retires to Mantua. Capulet and his wife

,

ignorant of their daughter’s marriage, have resolved to unite her to

Paris, a young nobleman of Verona. To avoid this marriage,j ul iet takes a drug provided for her by FriarLaurence, which produces a death- l ike lethargy. Her friends, supposing her to be

dead, inter her in the tomb of the Capulets . It is intended by

the friar that Romeo shal l be advised of these events, so that he

may be present when Jul iet wakes, and take her away to M antua.

By an error,however

,Romeo hears that Jul ie t is dead, on which

he procures poison, and enters the monument in which she is

entombed ; here he meets Paris, who provok es him to fight, andis kil led. Romeo then takes the poison . No sooner is he dead

than j uliet wakes from her l ethargy, and finding her husbanddead by her side, stabs herself; and the play concludes with the

reconciliation of the Capulets and M ontagues .

A CT I .

The P rince of Verona’s Charge to Capulet and M ontague.

REBELLIOUS subjects,enemies to peace,

Profaners of this neighbour-Stained steel,Will they not hear —what ho youmen

, you beasts,That quench the fire of your pernicious rageW ith purple fountains issuing from your veins,On pain of torture, from those bloody handsThrow your mistemper

’d weapons to the ground,

I 84 Romeo and

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,By thee, old Capulet and Montague,Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,And made Verona’s ancient c itizensCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,To wield old partizans, in hands as old,Canker

’d with peace to part your canker’d hate

l f ever you disturb our streets again,Your l ives shall pay the forfeit of the peace .

For this t ime, all the rest depart awayYou, Capulet, shall go along with meAnd, Montague, come you this afternoon,To know our further pleasure in this case,To old Free-town

,our common judgment-place.

Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Romeo’

s M elancholy.

Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun

Peer’d forth the golden window of the east,A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ;Where, -underneath the grove of sycamore,That westward rooteth from the c ity ’s side,So early walking did I see your son :Towards him I made but he was ’

ware ofme

And stole into the covert of the woodI, measuring his affect ions by my own,

That most are busied when they are most alone ,Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,A nd gladly shunn

’d who gladly fl ed fromme.

95 $6 95

Many a morning hath he there been seen,W ith tears augment ing the fresh morning ’s dew,

Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs

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I 86 Romeo and Ya l z'

ez‘

.

At my poor house, look to behold this nightEarth-treading stars, that make dark heaven l ightSuch comfort as do lusty young men feelWhen well-apparell

’d A pril on the hee l

Of limping winter treads, even such delightAmong fresh female buds shall you this nightInherit at my house hear all, all see,And like hermost whose merit most shall be.

Lady Capulet’

s Eulogy on P aris .

W hat say you can you love the gentleman P

This night you shal l behold him at our feastRead o ’er the volume of young Paris’ face,A nd find del ight writ there W1th beauty’s penExamine every married lineament,And see how one another lends contentA nd what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,Find written in the margin of his eyes.

This prec ious book of love, this unbound lover,To beautify him only lacks a coverThe fish l ives in the sea ; and

’t is much pride

For fair without the fair within to hideThat book in many ’s eyes doth share the glory,That in gold Clasps locks in the golden storySo shall you share all that he doth possess,By having him,

making yourself no less.

M ereutio’s Speech on Dreams .

O , then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies’ midwife and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate stoneOn the forefinger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of l ittle atomies *

A toms .

Romeo and I 87

A thwart men’s noses as they lie asleepHer waggon spokes made of long sp inner’s legsThe cover, of the wings of grasshoppersThe traces of the smallest spider’s webThe collars , of the moonshine’s wat’ry beamsH er whip, of cricket’s bone ; the lash, of film ;

H er Waggoner, a small gray- coated gnat,Not half so big as a round little wormPrick

’

d from the lazy finger of a maidHer chariot is an empty hazel nut ,Made by the joiner squirrel , or old grub,Time out ofmind the fairies’ coachmakers.A nd in this state she gallops night by nightThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of loveOn courtiers’ knees, that dream on court

’sies straight

O’

er lawyers’ fingers,who straight dream on fees

O’

er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream ;

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.

Sometimes she gallops o’

er a courtier’s nose,And then dreams he of smelling out a suitA nd sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig ’s tail,Tickling a parson’s nose as

’a l ies asleep,

Then dreams he of another beneficeSometimes she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,A nd then dreams he of cutt ing foreign throat s,Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Span ish blades,Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anonD rums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ;A nd, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,A nd sleeps again . This is that very Mab,

That plats the manes of horses in the night ;

A position at court.

1 8 8 Romeo and 7aZiez‘

.

And bakes the elf-locks* in foul sluttish hairs,Wh ich, once untangled, much misfortune bodes .

a 99 as as ac

I talk of dreamsWhich are the children of an idle brain,Begot of noth ing but vain fantasy ;W hich is as thin of substance as the air ;

A nd more inconstant than the wind, who woosEven now, the frozen bosomof the north,A nd, being anger

’d, puffs away from thence,

Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Deserioz‘ion of a B eam’y.

O , she doth teach the torches to burn bright !Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of nightLike a rich jewel in an Ethiop ’s earBeauty too rich for use, for earth too clear !So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,A s yonder lady o ’

er her fellows shows .

Capulet’s Favoured/e Opinion ofRomeo.

He bears him like a portly gentlemanAnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him,

To be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth

I would not for the wealth of al l this town ,Here in my house, do him disparagementTherefore be patient, take no note of him,

It is my will ; the which if thou respect ,Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns,An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast .

Romeo and Juliet at the B a ll.

ROMEO. If I profane with my unworthy handThis holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,

i . e.,Fairy locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the

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1 90 Romeo and 7nl z’

ez’

.

It is my lady ; O, it is my love0 , that she knew she wereShe speaks, yet she says nothing ; what of that ?Her eye discourses

,I will answer it.

I am too bold, ’t is not to me she Speaks

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,H aving some business, do entreat her eyesTO twinkle in their spheres till they return .

What ifher eyes were there, they in her headThe brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,A s daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heavenW ould through the airy region stream so bright,That birds would sing, and think it were not night .See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand,0 , that I were a glove upon that hand,That I might touch that cheek .

JULIET. Ah me !

ROMEO. She speaksO, speak again, bright angel for thou art

A s glorious to this night, beingo’

er my head.A s is a winged messenger of heavenUnto the white up-turned wond

’ring eyes

Ofmortals, that fal l back to gaze on him,

W hen he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thouRomeo ?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy nameOr, if thou wilt not , be but my sworn love,A nd I ’ll no longer be a Capulet.ROMEO. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ?JULIET .

’T is but thy name that is my enemy .

Thou art thyself though, ”e not a Montague.

Jul iet estimates him for his own good qualities, regardless of

her dislike for his family.

Romeo and 7nl iez‘

. I 9 I

W hat ’s Montague ? it is nor hand,nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other partBelonging to a man. O, be some other nameW hat ’s in a name ? that which we call a roseBy any other name would sme ll as sweetSo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call

’

d

Retain that dear perfec tion which he owes,Without that t itle z— Romeo, doff—f thy nameA nd for that name, which is no part of thee,Take all myself.ROMEO . I take thee at thy word

Call me but love, and I’l l be new baptiz’d

H enceforth I never wil l be Romeo .JULIET . What man art thou, that, thus bescreen

’d in

night,SO stumblest on my counsel ?ROMEO . By a name

I know not how to tel l thee who I amMy name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,Because it is an enemy to theeHad I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET . My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordsOf that tongue’s utterance

, yet I know the soundA rt thou not Romeo, and a Montague ?ROMEO. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.JULIET . How earnest thou hither, tell me ? and

wherefore ?The orchard walls are high, and hard to climbA nd the place death, considering who thou art,

If any ofmy kinsmen find thee here.ROMEO. With love ’s l ight wings did I o

’erperch

these wallsFor stony limits cannot hold love out

are Possesses . r

t Put aside

1 92 Romeo and

And what love can do, that dares love attempt,Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

JULIET . If they do see thee,they will murder thee.

ROMEO. A lack ! there l ies more peril in thine eye

Than twenty of their swords look thou but sweet,And I am proof against their enmity.JULIET . I would not for theworld they saw thee here .ROMEO. I have night ’s cloak to hide me from their

sight ;And, but thou love me,* let them find me hereMy l ife were better ended by their hate,Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love .JULIET. By whose direction found

’

st thou out thisplace ?

ROMEO. By love, who first did prompt me to inquireHe lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far

A s that vast shore wash’d with the fiIrthest sea,I would adventure for such merchandise.JULIET . Thouknow’

st themask ofnight is on myfaceElse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night .Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain denyWhat I have spoke : but farewell compliment l ‘i‘

Dost thou lOVe me I know thou wilt say, AyAnd I will take thy word ; yet, if thou swear

’

st,

Thoumay’st prove false ; at lovers’ perjuries,They say Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfullyOr if thou think’st I am too quickly won,I ’l l frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,So thouwilt woo but else not for the world.In truth, fair Mon tague, I am too fond ;

9" Except you love me . 1 False delicacy.

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1 94 Romeo and Ya l i ez‘

.

JULIET . I gave thee mine before thou didst request ItAnd yet I would it were to give again.

ROMEO. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love

JULIET . But to be frank, and give it thee again .

And yet I wish but for the thing I haveMy bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep ; the more I give to thee,The more I have, for both are infinite .

as 96 i t as

ROMEO . Sleep dwell upon thine eyes,peace in thy

breast !Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.

Tbe Dawn ofDay.

The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night

,

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of l ight ;And fl ecked* darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth day’s path-way, made by Titan

’

s-

j; wheels.

Early Ris ing.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth meYoung son, it argues a distemper

’d head,

SO soon to bid good morrow to thy bed

Care keeps his watch in every Old man’s eye,

And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ;But where unbruised youth , with unstuif’d brainD oth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reignTherefore thy earliness doth me assure,Thou art up

-rous’

d by some distemp’rature

Or, if not so, then here I hit it rightOur Romeo hath not been in bed to-night .

Dappled, spotted. 1‘ Titan, used for the sun

Romeo and 7nl z'

et.

M ercutio’s Description of Romeo in Love.

A las, poor Romeo, he is already dead ; stabbedwith a white wench’s black eye shot through the ear

with a love-song ; the very pin "e of his heart cleft withthe blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft.T

Lone’s Heralds .

Love’s heralds should be thoughts,Which ten times faster glide than the sun

’s beams,

D riving back shadows over low’ringh ills

Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,

And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

Violent Delights not Lasting.

These violent delights have violent ends,And in their triumph die : like fire and powder.Which, as they kiss, consume.

Lowers ligl it of Foot .

0 , so light a footWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flintA lovermay bestride the gossamersThat idle in the wanton summer air,A nd yet not fall so l ight is vanity.

A CT III.

Mercutio’s description of a Braw ler.

Thou ! why thou wilt quarrel with a man thatbath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thouhast. Thouwilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts,

Pin ofhis heart, that is the centre. 1‘ Cupid’s arrow.

1 96 Romeo and fifnl iet.

having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes.VVIIat eye but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is fullofmeat ; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as

an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with aman for coughing in the street, because he hath wakenedthy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. D idst thounot fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doubletbefore Easter ? with another, for tying his new shoeswith Old ribbon and yet thouwilt tutor me from quarrelling.

Juliet’s impatiencefor Romeo.

Come, night — Come, Romeo come, thou day in

night !For thouwilt lie upon the wings of nightWh iter than new snow on a raven’s back .

Come, gentle night ; come loving, black-brow’d night,Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die,Take him and cut him out in lit tle stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fine,That all the world will be in love with night,And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Romeo’

s Banis lyment.

FRIAR LAURENCE. A gentler judgment vanish’d fromhis l ips,

Not body’s death, but body’s ban ishment.ROMEO . Ha ! banishment ? be merciful, say death

For exile hath more terror in his look,Much more than death do not say banishment .

FEIAR. Hence fromVerona art thou banishedBe patient, for the world is broad and wide .ROMEO . There is no world without Verona walls,

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1 9 8 Romeo and 7 nl iet.

FRIAR. Thou fond madman,hear me but speak a

word.

ROMEO. O thouwilt speak again of banishment.FRIAR. I ’ll give thee armour to keep off that word

A dversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,To comfort thee

,though thou art banished.

ROMEO. Yet banished l— H ang up philosophy !Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,D isplant a town , reverse a prince’s doomIt helps not, it prevails not ; talk no more.FRIAR. 0 then I see that madmen have no ears.ROMEO. How should they, when that wise men haveno eyes ?

FRIAR. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate .ROMEO. Thou canst not speak Ofwhat thou dost notfeel .

Wert thou as young as I , Juliet thy love,An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,Doting l ike me, and like me banished,Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy

hair,And fal l upon the ground as I do now,

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

Reluctance of Lovers topart.

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone It is not yet near day.It was the nightingale , and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hollow of thine earNightly she sings on you pomegranate treeBelieve me, love, it was the nightingale.ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the mom,

No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaksDO lace the severing clouds in yonder eastNight

’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day

Romeo and 7ul z°

et.

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain topsI must be gone and live, or stay and die .

JULIET . Yon light is not daylight, I know it, IIt is some meteor that the sun exhales,To be to thee this n ight a torch-bearer,A nd light thee on thy way to Mantua ;

Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone .

ROMEO. Let me be ta’en , let me be put to death

I am content, so thou will have it so.

I’

ll say, you grey is not the morning’s eye,’T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia

’

s brow ;Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beatThe vaulty

'

heaven so high above our headsI have more care to stay than wil l to goCome, death, and welcome Jul iet wills it so,How is

’t, my soul ? let ’s talk, it is not day.

JULIET . It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ;It is the lark that sings so out Of tune,Strainingharsh discords, and unpleasingsharps.Some say, the lark makes sweet divisionThis do rh not so, for she divideth usSome say, the lark and loathed toad change eyesO , now I would they had chang

’d voices too !

S ince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.

0 , now be gone more l ight and l ight it grows .

Capulet’

s f inger a t Juliet’

s Rgfusal to M arry Paris .

It makes me mad : Day, night, late, early,A t home , abroad, alone, in company,Waking or sleeping, still my care hath beenTo have her match’

d : and having now providedA gentleman of princely parentage,Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train’d.

2 0 0 Romeo and 7a l iet.

Stuff’d (as they say) with honourable parts,Proportion

’

d as one’s heart could wish a man,And then to have a wretched puling fool,A whining mammet, in her fortune

’

s tender,To answer— I ’ll not cued, cannot lo‘ve,

am tooyoung,— l pray youpardon me

But, an you will not wed, I’ll pardon you

Graze where youwill , you shall not house with meLook to ’

t , think on ’t , I do not use to jest .Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise ;A n you be mine, I

’l l give you to my friend ;A n you be not, hang , beg, starve, die i

’

the streets,For, by my soul, I ’l l ne

’

er acknowledge thee,Nor what Is mine shall never do thee goodTrust to ’

t, bethink you, I’l l not be forsworn .

Juliet’s Anguish at the Thought of her M arriage

!w ith P aris .

Is there no pity sitting In the clouds,That sees into the bottom ofmy grief?0 , sweet my mother, cast me not away !Delay this marriage for a month , a week ;Or, if you do not, make the bridal bedIn that dim monument were Tybalt lies.

The Narse’

s Description of Paris .

Romeo’s a dishclout to him an eagle, madam,

Hath not so green,so quick, so fair an eye,

As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart ,I think you are happy in this second match,For it excels your first.

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2 0 2 Romeo and ? i i l z'

et.

Where serpents are chain me with roa l ing bearsOr shut me nightly in a charnel-house,O ’

er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattl ing bones,

With reeky shanks, and yel low Chapless sculls ;Or bid me go into a new-made grave,And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ;Things that, to hear them told, have made me trembleA nd I will do it without fear or doubt,To l ive an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.

FRIAR. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent

To marry Paris ; W ednesday is to morrow ;TO-morrow night look that thou he alone,Let not thy nurse l ie with thee in thy chambeI

Take thou this phial , being then in bed,And this distilled l iquor drink thou off

When presently, through all thy veins shall runA cold and drowsy humour, wh ich shall seizeEach vital sp irit ; for no pulse shall keepH is natural progress, but surcease to beatNO warmth, no breath, shall testify thou l iv’st ;The roses in thy l ips and cheeks shal l fadeTO paly ashes thy eyes’ windows fall,Like death when he shuts up the day Of life ;Each part, depriv

’d of supple government,

Shall stiff, and stark, and cold appear l ike deathAnd in this borrow’

d l ikeness of shrunk deathThou shalt remain full two and forty hours,And then awake as from a pleasant sleep .

Now when the bridegroom in the morning comesTo rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou deadThen ( as the manner of our country is ) ,In thy best robes uncover

’d on the bier,

Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,

Romeo and 7a lz'

et. 2 0 3

Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.

In the meantime, against thou shalt awake,Shall Romeo by my letters know our driftAnd hither shall he come and he and IWil l watch thy waking, and that very nightShal l Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.And this shall free thee from this present shameIf no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear,Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Juliet’s Soliloquy on Drinhing the Potion.

Farewel l —God knows when we shall meet again.I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,That almost freezes up the heat of lifeI ’l l call them back again to comfort meNurse -What should she do here ?My dismal scene I needs must act alone.Come, phial.What if this mixture do nOt work at allShall I be married then to-morrowmorning?NO, no —this shall forbid it —l ie thou there.

[Laying down a

What if it be a poison, which the friarSubtly hath minister’d to have me dead ;Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d,Because he married me before to RomeoI fear it is : and yet, methinks, it should not,For he hath still been tried a holy manI will not entertain so bad a thought .How, ifwhen I am laid into the tomb,I wake before the time that RomeoCome to redeemme ? there ’s a fearful point !Shall I not then be stifl ed in the vault,To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,

20 4 Romeo and 7a l iet.

And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ?O r, if I l ive, is it not very l ike,The horrible conceit ofdeath and night,Together with the terror of the place,As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,W here, for these many hundred years, the bonesOf all my buried ancestors are pack

’d ;

W here bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,Lies fest

’ring in his shroud ; where, as they say,

A t some hours in the night,spirits resort

A lack, alack ! is it not l ike, that I,SO early waking,— what with loathsome smells ;A nd shrieks l ike mandrakes torn out of the earth,That l iving mortals, hearing them, run mad.

O if I wake, shall I not be distraugh t,Environed with all these hideous fears ?And madly play with my forefathers

’ jointsA nd pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud 3.

A nd, in th is rage, with some great 'kinsman’

s bone,A s with a club, dash out my desperate brains ?0 , look ! methinks I see my cousin

’s ghost

Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his bodyUpon a rapier’s point . — Stay, Tybalt, stayRomeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee.

Juliet after tahing the P otion.

Out, alas ! she’s cold ;H er blood is settled and her joints are stiffLife and these l ips have long been separated :Death lies on her, like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Joy changed to Grief:

A ll things that we ordained festival,Turn from their ofli ce to black funeral

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2 0 6 Romeo and 7 2t/z'

et.

Green earthen pots,bladders, and musty seeds,

Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,W ere thinly scatter’d to make up a show.

Noting this penury, to myself I said,A nd if a man did need a poison now,

Whose sale is present death in Mantua,H ere lives a caitiffwretch would sell it him.

O ,this same thought did but fore-run my need ;

A nd this same needy man must sell it me.

A s I remember, this should be the houseBeing holiday, the beggar

’

s shop is shut.What , ho ! apothecary !A POTHECARY. Who calls so loud ?ROMEO. Come hither, man.

— I see that thou art

poor,Hold, there is forty ducats : let me haveA dram of poison ; such soon -speeding geer*

A s will disperse itself through all the veins,That the life-weary taker may fall deadAnd that the trunk may be discharg

’

d of breathA s violently as hasty powder fir’dDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb .

A POTHECARY. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Man

tua’s law

Is death to any he that utters them.

ROMEO. A rt thou so bare, and full ofwretchedness,A nd fear

’

st to die famine is in thy cheeks,Need and Oppression starveth in thy eyes ,Upon thy back hangs ragged misery ;The world is not thy friend, nor the world

’

s law

The world affords no law to make thee rich ;Then he not poor, but break it, and take this .

APOTHECARY. My poverty, but not mywill, consent s .

Such swiftly acting poison .

Romeo and ? zzl z'

et. 2 o 7

ROMEO. I pay thy poverty, and not thy wi ll .A POTHECARY. Put this in any liquid th ing you w, ll,

And drink it off and, if you had the strengthOf twenty men

,it would despatch you straight .

ROMEO. There is thy gold, worse po ison to men’

s

souls,

D oing more murders in this loathsome worldThan these poor compounds that thoumayst not sellI sel l thee poison, thou hast sold me none .Farewell buy food, and get thyself in flesh.Come, cordial, and not poison go with meTo Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.

Romeo and Paris at t/oe Toma.

ROMEO . Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,Gorg

’

d with the dearest morsel of the earth,Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open ,

[B reaking open the door of the M onument.

And, in desp ite , I’ll cram thee with more food !

PARIS . This is that banish’d haughty Montague,That murder’d my love

’

s cousin —with which grief,It is supposed the fair creature died,A nd here is come to do some villanous shameTo the dead bodies : I will apprehend him

S top thy unhallow’

d toil , vile Montague ;Can vengeance be pursu

’

d farther than death ?Condemned villain, I do apprehend theeObey, and go with me ; for thou must die .

ROMEO. I must , indeed ; and therefore camehither.

G ood gentle youth , tempt not a desperate man,Fly hence, and leave me -think upon these gone ;Let them affright thee .

-I beseech thee, youth,

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et.

Heap not another sin upon my head,By urging me to fury l— O ,

‘begone !By heaven, I love thee better than myselfFor I come hither arm’d against myselfS tay not , begone —l ive

, and hereafter sayA madman’s mercy bade thee run away.

PARIS. I do defy thy conJuratrons,

And do attach thee as a felon here .

ROMEO . Wilt thou provoke me ; then have at

boy.as as as as

PARrs . O,I am slain I If thou be merciful,

Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [D iemROMEO . In faith, I will — Let me peruse thisface ;

Mercutio’s kinsman, noble county Pari sWhat said my man, when my betossed soulD id not attend him as we rode I th inkHe told me, Paris should have married JulietSaid he not so or did I dream it soOr am I mad, hearing him talk ofJuliet,To think it was so -O , give me thy hand,One writ with me in sour misfortune 3 book ?I ’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave,A grave ? 0 , no a lantern, slaugh tered youth ,For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makesThis vault a feas t ing presence ful l of l ight .Death, l ie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.

[Laying P art: in t/oe Jlfonumenz‘.

How oft when men are at the point of deathHave they been merry ? which their keepers callA lightning before death O ,

how may ICall this a lightning —O , my love my wife !

Death , that hath suck’

d the honey of thy breath,

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2 I O Romeo and ? a l iet.

And she, there dead, that Romeo’

s faithful wifeI married them and their stolen marriage-dayW as Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely deathBanish

’d the new-made bridegroom from this city

For whom, and not for Tybalt , Juliet pin’d.You— to remove that siege of grieffrom her,Betroth

’d, and would have married her perforce,

To county Paris -Then comes she to me ;A nd, with wild looks, bid me devise some meansTo rid her from this second marriage,Or, in my cell there would she kill herself.Then gave I her, so tutor

’

d by my art ,

A sleeping potion ; which so took effectA s I intended, for it wrought on herThe form of death : meantime I writ to Romeo,That he should hither come as this dire night,To help to take her from her borrow’d grave

,

Being the time the potion’s force should cease.But he which bore my letter, Friar John,W as staid by accident ; and yesternightReturn’d my letter back Then all alone,A t the prefixed hour of her waking,Came I to take her from her kindred’s vaultMeaning to keep her closely at my cell,Till I conveniently could send to RomeoBut when I came ( some minute ere the timeOf her awakening ) , here untimely layThe noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead.

She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth,A nd bear this work of heaven with patienceBut then a noise did scare me from the tomb ;A nd she too desperate, would not go W i th me,But (as it seems ) did violence on herself.

That source 0 1 grrer.

King 7ol m. 2 I I

A ll this I know ; and to the marriageHer nurse is privy : And, if aught in thisMiscarried by my fault, let my old lifeBe sacrificed some hour before his time,Unto the rigour of severest law.

K I NG JOHN.

The play commences with the arrival at the court of Englandof Chatil lon, ambassador from the French king, who demands

King John‘

s abdication in favour of Prince Arthur. This is t e

fused, and war is immediately declared between England and

France . The two armiesmeet before the wal ls ofAngiers, wherea marriage is arranged between Lewis, the dauphin of France, and

Blanch, niece of King John ; thus an al liance is cemented be

tween the French King Philip and John . A t this junctureCardinal Pandulph, the Pope’s legate, arrives

,to urge on King

John the appointment of Stephen Langton to the see of Canterbury. This the king decl ines to accede to, tel ling Pandulph that

N0 Ital ian priestShall tithe or toll in his dominions .

On which Pandulph declares him excommuni cated, and induces

the French k ing to declare war against him. In a battle which

ensues,Prince Arthur is taken and sent to England, under the

charge of Hubert, who has been ordered by John to kil l the

prince by burning out his eyes. Hubert, overcome by the prayersof Prince A rthur, wil l not execute the command given him 5 but

the ‘ prince , in making an effort to escape from NorthamptonCastle, where he is confined

,fal ls from the wal ls and is k il led.

The war continuing, the French land in England,and in a battle

which ensues,King John

,in accordance with a message he receives

from Faulconbridge, leaves the field and retires to Swinstead

2 I 2 King 7ohn.

Abbey, where he dies, poison having been administered to him by

a monk,and the play concludes with a defiant appeal on behalf 0 !

England from Faulconbridge.

ACT I .

King John’

s Defi ance to the French Ambassador.

Be thou as lightning in the eyes ofFranceFor, ere thou canst report I will be there,The thunder Ofmy cannon shall be heard.So hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath,And sul len presage of your own decay .

Faulconhriclge’s Speech on New Titles .

Gooa’elon,

i te Sir Richard,— Goa’-a-mercy,fellow ;

And if his name be George, I ’l l call him PeterFor new-made honour doth forget men’s names ;’T is too respective, and too sociable,For your conversion .

-

l Now your traveller,He and his tooth-pick at my worship

’s mess

A nd when my knightly stomach is sufliced,Why then I suck my teeth and catechizeMy picked man of countries i l lfy clear s ir

(Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin ) ,I shall beseechyou

— That is question now

A nd then comes answer like an A B C-book ;0 s ir, says answer, a t your best command ;At your employment at your serv ice, s ir

No, s ir, says question, 1 , sweet s ir, at yours

A nd so, ere answer knows what question would,( Saving in dialogue of compliment ;A nd talking of the A lps and Apennines,Good e

’

en, good evening . 1 Advanced position in l ife .

I Picked man of countries ; that is, one who has travel led muchr

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2 I 4 King ? o/in.

Courage.

By how much unexpected, by so muchWe must awake endeavour for defenceFor courage mounteth with occasion.

A B oaster .

What cracker is this same, that deafs our earsWith this abundance of superfluous breath ?

Description of Victory hy the French.

You men ofA ngiers, Open wide your gates,A nd let young A rthur, Duke of Bretagne, in ;Who, by the hand ofFrance, this day hath madeMuch work for tears in many an English mother,Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding groundMany a widow’

s husband grovell ing lies,Coldly embracing the discolour’d earthAnd vic tory, with little loss, doth playUpon the dancing banners of the FrenchWho are at hand, triumphantly display

’

d,

To enter conquerors.

Description of Victory hy the English.

Rejoice, you men ofAngiers, ring your bellsKing John, your king and England’s, doth approach ,Commander of this hot malic ious dayTheir armours, that march

’

d hence so silver bright,H ither return all gilt with Frenchman’s blood ;There Stuck no plume in any English crest ,That is removed by a staff ofFranceOur colours do return in those same handsThat did display themwhen we first march’d forthAnd, like a jolly troop of hun tsmen, come

King 7ohn. 2 I 5

Our lusty English , all with purpled hands,Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.

A complete Lady.

If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,Where should he find it fairer than in BlanchIf zealous love should go in search of virtue,Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ?If love ambitious sough t a match of birth,W hose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ?

In her eye I findA wonder, or a wondrous miracle,The shadow ofmyself form’

d in her eye ;Which, being but the shadow of your son

,

Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadowI do protest I never lov’

d myself,Till now infixed I beheld myself,D rawn in the flattering table of her eye.

Ohea’ience.

My uncle’

s will, in this respect, is mine.If he see aught in you, that makes him like,That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,I can with ease translate it to my willOr, if you will ( to speak more properly) ,I wil l enforce it easily to my love .

ACT I II .

1 1 Woman’s fears .

Thou shalt be punish’d for thus frighting me,

For I am sick, and capable* of fears ;Susceptible .

King ?ohn.

Oppress’d with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ;

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ;A woman, naturally born to fears ;And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest,With my vex

’

d spirits, I cannot take a truce,But they will quake and tremble all this day .

S igns of GriefWhat dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ?

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ?

W hat means that hand upon that breast of thine 9W hy holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,

Like a proud river peering o’er his boundsBe these sad signs confirmers of thywords ?Then speak again not all thy former tale,But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

A M other’s fondness for her Child.

If thou, that bidst me be content , wert grim,

Ugly, and sland’

rous,

Full of unpleasingblots, and sightless*‘

stains,

Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,Patch

’

d with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,I would not care, I then would be content ;For then I should not love thee no, nor thouBecome thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.But thou art fair and at thy birth dear boyNature and fortune join

’

d to make thee greatOf nature’s gifts thou may’st with lilies boast,And with the half-blown rose .

Grief:

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ;For grief is proud and makes his owner stout.

Ugly.

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2 I 8 King ?ohn.

HUBERT. I ammuch bounden to your majesty.KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say

so yet

But thou shalt have and creep time ne’er so slow,

Yet it shal l come, for me to do thee good .

I had a thing to say,—But let it go

The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,A ttended with the pleasures of the world,Is all too wanton , and too full ofgaudsfitTo give me audience — If the midnight bellD id, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,Sound one unto the drowsy race of night ;If this same were a church-yard where we stand,And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ;Or if that surly spirit , melancholy,Had bak’d thy blood, and made it heavy, thick

(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,Making that idiot, laughter, keep men ’s eyes,And strain their checks to idle merriment,A passion hateful to my purposes )Or if that thou could’st see me without eyes,Hear me without thine ears, and make replyWithout a tongue, using conceit alone,Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound ofwordsThen, in despite of brooded watchful day,I would into thy bosom pour my thoughtsBut ah, I will not -Yet I love thee wel l ;A nd by my troth, I think thou lov’st me well.HUBER

’

I‘

. So well, that what you bid me undertake,Though that my death were adjunct to my act,

By heaven, I’d do ’

t .

KING JOHN. Do not I know, thouwould’st ?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert , throw thine eyeGaiety.

King 510m 2 I 9

On yon young boy I ’l l tell thee what, my friendHe is a very serpent in my way ;And wheresoe’er this foot ofmine doth tread,He lies before me : Dost thou understand me PThou art his keeper.HUBERT . A nd I will keep him so,

That he shall not Offend your majesty.K1NG JOHN. Death.HUBERT . My lord ?KING JOHN. A grave .HUBERT. He shal l not live.KiNG JOHN. Enough.

I could be merry now : Hubert, I love theeWell, I ’ll not say what I intend for thee.

Constance’s flpostropbe to Deatb.

Death, death, O amiable lovely death !Thou Odoriferous stench 1 sound rottenness !A rise forth from the couch of lasting nigh t,Thou hate and terror to prosperity,A nd I will kiss thy de testable bonesAnd put my eye

-balls in thy vaulty browsA nd ring these fingers with thy household wormsA nd stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,And be a carrion monster like thyself;Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil’st

,

A nd buss thee as thy wife Misery’s love,0 , come to me

A Motber’

r Despair.

I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mineMy name is Constance ; I was Gefi l ey

’

s wife

Young A rthur is my son, and he is lostI am not mad —I would to heaven I were !

2 20 K im; 7okn.

For then, ’t is like I should forget myself

O , if I could, what grief should I forget !Preach some philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be canoniz ’d, cardinal ;For, being not mad, but sensible Of grief,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliver

’

d Of these woes,And teaches me to kill or hang myself :If I were mad, I should forget my sonOrmadly th ink a babe Of cloutswere he ;I amnot mad ; too well too well I feelThe different plague Ofeach calamity.

ff M ofber’

s distress for tine loss of bar Chi/d.

Father cardinal, I have heard you say,

That we shall see, and know our friends in heavenIf that be true, I shall see my boy againFor, since the birth of Cain the first male child,TO him that did but yesterday suspire,716

There was not such a gracious’

rcreature born .But now wil l canker sorrow eat my bud,And chase the native beauty from his cheek,And he wil l look as hollow as a ghost ;A s dim and meagre as an ague’s fit ;And so he ’l l die ; and, rising so againWhen I shal l meet him in the court of heavenI shal l not know him therefore never, never,Must I behold my pretty A rthur more.

G rief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ;Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,

4“Breathe . 1" Comely, handsome.

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2 2 2 King Yonn.

HUBERT . If I talk to him, with his innocent prateHe will awake my mercy, which lies dead .

Therefore , I will be sudden and despatch .

ARTHUR. A re you sick, Hubert ? You look paleto-day ;

In sooth I would you were a little sick,That I might sit all night and watch with you.

I warrant I love youmore than you do me.

HUBER’

I‘

. H is words do take possession of my bosom.

Read here, young A rthur. How now, foolish rheumTurning dispiteous torture out of door 1I must be brief, lest resolution dropOut at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.

Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writARTHUR. TOO, fairly, Hubert , for so foul effect.

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyesHUBERT . Young boy, I must.ARTHUR. A nd will youHUBERT . A nd I will .ARTHUR. Have you the heart ? When your headdid but ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,(The best I had— a princess wrought it me ) ,A nd I did never ask it you againA nd with my hand at midnight held your head ;A nd, like the watchful minutes to the hour,St ill and anon cheer

’d up the heavy time

Saying , What lack you and Where l ies your grief?Or, What good love may I perform for you ?Many a poor man’s son would have lain stillA nd ne’er have spoke a loving word to youBut you at your sick service had a prince.Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,And call it cunning. DO, an if you will.

King 2 2 a

IfHeaven be pleas’d that you must use me ill,

Why then youmust. Wil l you put out mine eyes ?These eyes that never did, nor never shall,So much as frown on you ?HUBERT . I have sworn to do it ;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it !The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,

A pproaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,And quench his fiery indignation,Even in the matter Ofmine innocenceNay, after that, consume away in rust,But for containing fire to harmmine eye.

A re you more stubborn hard than hammer’d iron

A nd if an angel should have come to me ,A nd told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,I would not have believ’d no tongue but Hubert’s .

as as at ar se er

HUBERT . Come, boy, prepare yourself:

ARTHUR. Is there no remedy?HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes .

ARTHUR. O heaven —that there were but a motein your’s,

A grain,a dust, a gnat, a wand

’ringhair,

Any annoyance in that precious senseThen, feeling what small things are boist’rous there,Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

H UBERT . Is this your promise ? go to, hold yourtongue.

ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tonguesMust needs want pleading for a pair of eyesLet me not hold my tongue let me not , HubertOr, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,SO I may keep mine eyes O spare mine eyes ;

2 24 King yonn.

Though to no use, but still to look on you !LO, by my troth , the instrument is cold,And would not harmme.

HUBER’

I‘

. I can heat it , boy.ARTHUR. NO, in good sooth ; the fire is dead withgrief

(Being create for comfort ) to be us’d

In undeserv’d extremes See else yourself ;There is no malice in this burning coalThe breath Of heaven hath blown his spirit out,And strew

’d repentant ashes on his head .

HUBERT . But with my breath I can revive it , boy.ARTHUR. And if you do, youwill but make it blush,

And glow with shame of your proceedings, HubertNay, it perchance wil l Sparkle in your eyes ;And, like a dog that is compell

’d to fight ,

Snatch at his master that do th tarre* him on.A ll things, that you should use to do me wrong ,D eny their Office only you do lackThat mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,Creatures Of note, for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT . Well, see to l ive ; I will not touch thineeyes

For all the treasure that thine uncle owesYet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,With this same very iron to burn them out .

ARTHUR. O now you look like Hubert ! all thiswhile

You were disguised.

HUBERT . Peace no more . A dieuYour uncle must not know but you are deadI ’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports.And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,

Urge him on.

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2 26 King fife/in.

Young A rthur’s death is common in their mouthsAnd when they talk Of him they shake their heads,A nd whisper one another in the ear

And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer’s wristWhilst he, that hears, makes fearful action,With wrinkled brows

,with nods, with rolling eyes.

I saw a smith stand with his hammer thus,The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,”With open mouth swallowing a tailor’s newsWho

, with his shears and measure in his hand,S tanding on slippers (which his nimble hasteHad falsely thrust upon contrary feet ) ,Told of a many thousand warlike French,That were embattled and rank’(1 in KentA nother lean unwash’d artificer

Cuts Off his tale, and talks Of A rthur’s death .

T/ye ‘wicéed commands of Kings toopromptly executed

It is the curse of kings to be attendedBy slaves that take their humours for a warrantTO break within the bloody house of l ifeA nd, on the winking Of authority,TO understand a law ; to know the meaningOf dangerous majesty, when perchance, it frownsMore upon humour than advised respect.

AM urderer’s [canand readiness to execute a 6nd deed .

How oft the sight Ofmeans to do ill deeds,Makes deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by,A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d,Quoted, and sign

’d, to do a deed Of shame,This murder had not come into mymind .

But, taking note Of thy abhorr’d aspect,“

Finding thee fit for bloody villany,

King fife/i n . 2 2 7

Apt, liable, to be employ’

d in danger,I faintly broke with thee ofA rthur’s deathAnd thou

,to be endeared to a king,

Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

at 96 as as

Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,When 1 spake darkly what I purposed ;Or turn’(1 an eye of doubt upon my face,A s bid me tell my tale in express words ;Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break Off,And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.

Trust not those cunning waters of his eyesFor villany is not without such rheumA nd he long traded in It makes it seemLike rivers Of remorse and innocency .

If thou didst but consent,To this most cruel act, do but despair,A nd if thou want’st a cord

,the smallest thread

That ever spider twisted from her wombWill serve to strangle thee ; a rush will beA beam to hang thee on or wouldst thou drown thyself,Put but a little water in a spoon,And it shall be as all the ocean,Enough to stifle such a villain up.

ACT V.

Faulconbridge’s Appeal to King Jal mon tire Invasion of

But wherefore do you droop ? Why look you sad ?

Be great in act, as you have been in thought ;

2 2 8 King 70nd

Let not the world see fear and sad distrustG overn the motion of a kingly eye .Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fireThreaten the threat’ner, and outface the browOf bragging horror so shall inferior eyes,That borrow their behaviours from the great,G row great by your example, and put onThe dauntless spirit of resolution,Away : and glister like the god ofwar,When he intendeth to become the fieldShow boldness and aspiring confidence.What , shall they seek the lion in his den,And fright him there And make him tremble there ?O , let it not be said ! Forage, and runTo meet displeasure further from the doors,And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh .

f fM an’s Tears .

Let me wipe off this honourable dew,

That silvery doth progress on thy cheeks ;My heart hath melted at a lady

’s tears,

Being an ordinary inundationBut this effusion Of such manly drops,This shower, blown up by tempest Of the soul,Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz ’d.Than had I seen the vaulty top of heavenFigur

’d quite o’er with burning meteors.L ift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,A nd with a great heart heave away this stormCommend these waters to those baby eyes,That never saw the giant world enrag

’d

Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,Full warm of blood, Ofmirth, of gossiping.

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2 30 King S‘o/i n.

Sound but another, and another shall ,A s loud as thine, rattle the welkin’s ear,And mock the deep-mouth’d

The Approach of Death.

It is too late the life of all his bloodIs touch

’d corruptibly and his pure brain

(Which some suppose the soul’s frail dwelling-house}Doth by the idle comments that it makes,Foretell the endi ng ofmortality.

King Jo/m’s Dear/J by P oison.

Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-roomIt would not out at windows, nor at doors .

There is so hot a summer in my bosom,

That all my bowels crumble up to dustI am a scribbled form, drawn with a penUpon a parchment ; and against this fireDO I shrink up.

95 96 96 i t as

Poison’ d— ill-fare —dead, forsook, cast offA nd none of you will bid the winter come,To thrust his icy fingers in my mawNor let my kingdom

’s rivers take their course

Through my buru’d bosom nor entreat the north

To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,And comfort me with cold.

England Inv incible if Unanimous .

This England never did, nor never shall,Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,But when it first did help to wound itself.Now these her princes are come home again,Come the three corners Of the world in arms,

King R ickard J] . 2 3 1

And we shall shock them : Naught shall make us rue,

If England to itself do rest but true.

-000

KING RICHARD II .

This historical play describes the dethronement and death of

the monarch whose name it bears . Richard, on the death of

John Of Gaunt, Duke rof Lancaster, appropriates to himself thelands of the deceased nobleman

,to enable him to prosecute a war

in Ireland, for which country he takes his departure . In the

king’s absence,Bol ingbroke (son of John Of Gaunt) , who had

been banished,returns to England

,and levying an army, hastens

to meet the king on his return from Ireland. Finding his noblesfal ling away from him

,and his soldiers deserting his standard,

the k ing accompanies Bol ingbroke to London, and there resignshis crown to him. The dethroned monarch is imprisoned inPomfret Castle, where he is assassinated by Sir Pierce Of Exton,

and the play concludes with the reproval Of Exton by Bolingbroke, who resolves himself to make a pilgrimage to the Holy

Land, to expiate his cruel tytowards the unfortunateKingRichard.

Dr. Johnson says of this tragedy— fl It is not finished at last with

that happy force of some others of Shakspere’s tragedies nor can

i t be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the under

standing

A CT I

Reputation.

THE purest treasure mortal times affordIs— spotless reputation that away,Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.

2 32 KingR icka rd I1 .

Cowardice.

That which in mean men we entitle— patience,Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts .

Ennis/omens.

All places, that 'the eye of heaven visits,A re to a wise man ports and happy havensTeach thy necessity to reason thusThere is no virtue like necessity.Think not, the king did banish theeBut thou the king woe doth the heavier sit,Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.GO, say

-I sent thee forth to purchase honour,And not— the king exiled thee : or suppose,Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine itTo l ie that way thou go

’st, not whence thou com

’

st

Suppose the singingbirds musiciansThe grass Whereon thou tread

’st, the presence strew

’

d

The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps no moreThan a delightful measure, or a danceFor gnarling 916 sorrow hath less power to biteThe man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Imagina tion [ngfi ctnal to M oderate Afl iction

O , who can hold a fire in his handBy thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?Or Cloy the hungry edge of appetiteBy bare imagination of a feastOr wal low naked in December’s snow,

By thinking on fantastic summer’s heati t Grumbling, snarl ing.

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2 34 King R ickard I ] .

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

96 st 96 96 as

England bound in with the triumphant sea ;Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siegeOfwatery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds ;That England, that was wont to conquer Others,Hath made a shameful conquest Of itself.

Each substance Of a grief hath twenty shadows,Wh ich show like grief itself, but are not so

For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears,

Divides one thing entire to many objectsLike perspectives, which rightly gazed upon,Show nothing but confusion eyed awry,Distinguish form.

Hope Deceig‘

ful .

I will despai r, and be at enmityWith cozening hOpe he is a flatterer,A parasite, a keeper back of death ,Who gently would dissolve the bands Of l ife,Which false hope lingers in extremity .

Prognostics of War .

The bay-trees in our country are all witber’d ,And meteors fright the fixed stars Of heavenThe pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth ,A nd lean look’d prophets whisper fearful ChangeRich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap.

King Ricka rd If. 2 35

ACT III .

Rickard’s Aposz

‘

ropke to England.

I weep for joyTo stand upon my kingdom once again .Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofsA s a long parted mother with her childP lays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meet ingSO weeping, smiling , greet I thee, my earth,And do thee favour with my royal hands.Feed not thy sovereign ’s foe, my gentle earth,Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous senseBut let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,Wh ich with usurping steps do trample thee .

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ;And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,Whose double tongue may with a mortal touchThrow death upon thy sovereign ’s enemies ;Mock not my senseless conjuration, lordsThis earth shall have a feeling , and these stonesProve armed soldiers, ere her native kingShall falter under foul rebel lious arms .

San-ris ing a ter a dark Nigkt .

Kh ow’st thou not,

That when the searching eye Of heaven is hidBehind the globe, and l ights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ;But when

,from under this terrestrial ball,

2 36 King R icka rd If.

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,And darts his light through every guilty hole,Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,The cloak of night being pluck’d from off their backs,Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ?

Tke Sanci izfy of a King.

Not all the water in the rough rude seaCan wash the balm from an anointed kingThe breath ofworldly men cannot deposeThe deputy elected by the Lord.For every man that Bolingbroke hath press

’

d

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,God for his Richard bath in heavenly payA glorious angel ; then, if angels fight,Weak men must fall for Heaven still guards the right .

Tbc Power of M aj esty.

Am I not king?Awake, thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep

’st.

Is not the king’s name forty thousand names ?

A rm, arm, my name —A puny subject strikesA t thy great glory. Look not to the ground,Ye favourites of a king are we not high ?H igh be our thoughts.

Tke Vanity of P ower , and M isery of a King.

NO matter where ; of comfort no man speak :Let

’s talk of graves, Ofworms and epitaphs

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom Of the earth .

Let’s choose executors, and talk Ofwills ;

A nd yet not so,— for what can we bequeath,

Save our deposed bodies to the ground ?

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2 3 8 King R i cka rd 11 .

To dim his glory, and to stain the trackOf his bright passage to the occ ident.

Rickard’

s Humility.

What must the king do now ? Must he submitThe king shall do it. Must he be depos

’

d ?

The king shall be contented. Must he loseThe name Ofking ? O

’

God’s name, let it go.I ’11 give my jewels for a set of beads ;My gorgeous palace for a hermitage ;My gay apparel for an alms-man ’s gownMy figur

’d goblets for a dish Ofwood

My sceptre for a palmer’s walking-staffMy subjects for a pair Of carved saints ;A nd my large kingdom for a l ittle grave,A little little grave— an Obscure graveOr I ’l l be buried in the king’s highway,Some way Of common trade, where subjects’ feetMay hourly t rample on their sovereign

’

s headFor on my heart they tread now whilst I live ;And, buried once, why not upon my head ?

A CT IV.

Tke Emptiness of Royalty.

A lack, why am I sent for to a king,Before I have shook Off the regal thoughtsWherewith I reign

’d I hardly yet have learn

’d

TO insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my kneeG ive sorrow leave awhile to tutor meTo this submission . Yet I well rememberThe favours " Of these men were they not mineD id they not sometime cry, all hai l to me

The countenances.

KingR icka rd I ] .

So Judas did to Christ ; but he , in twelve,Found truth in all, but one I in twelve thousand, none.God save the king — Will no man say amen ?Am I both priest and Clerk We ll then, amen.God save the king ! although I be not he ;And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.

Rickard’

s Res ignation of kis Crown.

Now mark me how I will undo myselfI give this heavy weight from Off my head,And this unwieldly sceptre frommy hand,The pride Of kingly sway from out my heart ;W ith mine own tears I wash away my balm,

W ith mine own hands I give away my crown,With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,With mine own breath release all duteous oathsA ll pomp and majesty I do forswearMy manors, rents, revenues, I forego ;My acts, decrees, and statutes, I denyGod pardon all oaths that are broke to me !God keep all vows unbroke are made to theeMake me

,that nothing have, with nothing griev

’d ;

And thou W i th all pleas’d, that hast all achiev

’d !

Long mayst thou l ive in Richard’s seat to sit,

And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit !God save King H enry, unking

’d Richard says ,

And send him many years of sunshine days !

ACT V.

Melanckoly Stories .

In winter’s tedious nights, sit by the fireWith good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales

2 4 0 King R ickard U .

Ofwoeful ages, long ago betid 99

And ere thou bid good n ight, to quit their grief,Tell thou the lamentable fall ofme,And send the hearers weeping to their beds .

B olingkroke coming into London.

Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, “Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,Which his aspiring rider seem’d to know,

W ith slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,While all tongues cried— God save thee, BolingbrokeYou would have thought the very windows spake,SO many greedy looks of young and oldThrough easements darted their desiring eyesUpon his visage ; and that all the walls,With painted imagery, had said at once,

\

Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bol ingbroke !W hilst be, from one side to the other turning

,

Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed ’s neck,Bespake them thus, tkankyou, countrymen

And thus still doing, thus he pass’d along.

se as 96 at

A s in a theatre, the eyes ofmen,After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,A re idly bent on him that enters next,Thinking his prattle to be tediousEven so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyesD id scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save himNo joyful tongue gave him his welcome homeBut dust was thrown upon his sacred headW h ich with such gen tle sorrow he shook Off,

His face still combating with tears and smiles,The badges of his grief and patience,“

i“Long passed away.

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24 2 KingHenry JV —P a rt I .

Persuades me I was better when a kingThen am I king

’d again : and, by and by,Think that I am unking

’d by Bolingbroke,

A nd straight am nothing— But, whate’er I am,

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas’(1, till he be eas

’dWith being nothing.

B olingkroke’s Remorse at Rickard

’s Deatk.

They love not poison that do poison need,Nor do I thee : though I did wish him dead,I hate the murderer— love him murdered.The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,But neither my good word nor princely favour ;With Cain go wander through the shade Of night,And never show thy head by day nor light.Lords, I protest my soul is full ofwoe,That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,And put on sullen black incontinentI ’ll make a voyage to the Holy

,

Land,

To wash this blood Off frommy guilty hand.

March sadly after ; grace mymournings here.In weeping after this untimely bier.

KING HENRY IV.—PART l .

The king is about to depart for the HolyLand, when he 19

stayed by intel l igence Of the defeat ofMortimer, Earl of M arch,

it Forthwith.

King H enry JV— P a rt f. 2 4 3

by Owen Glendower, and by disturbances in the northern parts ofhis kingdom, where Hotspur, son of the Earl ofNorthumberland

,

has defeated A rchibald, Earl of Douglas,and taken certain pri

souers, whom he refuses to del iver up to the king. This incénses

the king against Hotspur, the more so as the latter has p leadedstrongly for the ransom of Mortimer

,whom the king decl ines to

redeem. Hotspur thus rendered indignant, joins with the Earl of

Northumberland, the Earl of Worcester, and others, to dethrone

the king . The rebel forces advance to Shrewsbury, where a

great battle is fought,in which the king Obtains a signal victory.

Hotspur is slain byHenry, Prince of Wales (afterwards Henry the

Fifth) , who throughout the battle has greatly distinguished himself. The serious parts of the play are relieved by the eccentrici

ties of the Prince of Wales and his boon companions,Sir John

Falstaff,Poins, and Bardolph . Speaking of the fi rst and second

parts ofHenry the Fourth, Dr. Johnson says— “NO two plays are

more read than these ; and perhaps no author ever produced two

which afforded so much delight . The great events are in teresting,

for the fate of kingdoms depends on them the l ight occurrences

are diverting ; the incidents are mul tipl ied with a wonderful

felicity of invention , and the characters diversified with the utmost

nicety of discernment,and the profoundest skil l in the nature Of

man

ACT I.

P eace after Civ il War.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Find .we a time for frighted peace to pant,And breathe short-winded accents of new broilsTo be commenc’d in stronds* afar remote.No more the thirsty Erinnys

—l of this soilShall daub her l ips with her own Children’s bloodNo more shall trenching war channel her fields,Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofsOf hostile paces : those opposed eyes,

Shores . 1 The fury Of discord

4 4 King H enny V.-P a rt I .

Which , _

-‘like the meteors of a troubled heaven,

A ll of one nature, of one substance bred,D id lately meet in the intestine shockA nd furious close of civil butchery,Shall now, in mutual, wel l -beseeming ranks,March all one way and be no more Oppos

’

d

A gainst acquaintance, kindred, and alliesThe edge ofwar, like an ill-sheathed knife,No more shall cut his master.

KingHenry’s Claaracter of P ercy, and of kis Son

P rince Henry.

Yea, there thoumak’st me sad, and mak’

st me sin,

In envy that my Lord NorthumberlandShould be the father of so bless’d a sonA son who is the theme of honour’s tongueAmongst a grove, the very straitest plant ;Who is sweet fortune’s minion, and her prideWhilst I, by looking on the praise of him,

See riot and dishonour stain the browOfmy young Harry.

Prince Henry’s Soliloguy.

I know you all, and will awhile upholdThe unyok

’d humour of your idleness

Yet herein will I imitate the sun

Who doth permit the base contagious cloudsTo smother up his beauty from the world,That, when be please again to be himself,Being wanted, he may be more wonder

’

d at,

By breaking through the foul and ugly mistsOf vapours that did seem to strangle him.

If all the year were playing holidays,To sport would be as tedious as to work

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2 4 6 King H enry V “ P a rt I.

I then, all smarting with my wounds, being cold,To be so pester

’d with a popinjay,

Out Ofmy grief and my impatience,A nswer

’d, neglectingly, I know not what ;He should, or he should not ; for he made me madTo see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,A nd talk so like a waiting gentlewoman ,Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark )A nd telling me the sovereign

’st th ing on earth

W as parmaceti for an inward bruiseAnd that it was great pity, so it was,That villanous saltpetre should be digg

’

d

Out ofthe bowels Of the harmless earth,Which many a good tal l fe llow had destroy

’d

So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.

Danger.

I ’l l read youmatter deep and dangerousA s full of peril and adventurous spirit,As to o

’erwalk a current, roaring loud,

On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

HOIZOIH‘

.

By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leapTo pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moonO r dive into the bottom of the deep

,

Where fathom- line could never touch the ground,A nd pluck up drowned honour by the locks ;S O he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear,Without corrival ,* all her dignit iesBut out upon this half-faced fellowship. —l

A rival . 1 Friendship

King H enry I V. P a rt I . 2 4 7

A CT II .

Lady P ercy’

s Specck to ker Huskand.

O, my good lord, why are you thus aloneFor what offence have I , this fortnight, beenA banish

’

d woman from my Harry’

s bed ?Tell me, sweet lord, what is ’t that takes from theeThy stomach , pleasure, and thy golden sleepWhy dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earthA nd start so Often when thou sitt

’

st alone ?Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeksA nd given my treasures, and my rights of thee,To thick-ey

’

d musing, and curs’

d melancholy ?In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch

’

d,

A nd heard thee murmur tales ofl

iron wars :Speak terms ofmanage to thy bounding steedCry, Courage— to the field And thou hast talk’dOf sallies and retires ; of trenches, tents.

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ;Of basilisks, of cannon, culverinOf prisoner’s ransom, and of soldiers slain,And all the currents’” of a heady fight .Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,

And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep,

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,

Like bubbles in a late-disturbed streamA nd in thy face strange motions have appear

’d,

Such as we see when men restrain their breathOn some great sudden haste. 0 what portents arethese ?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,And I must know it, else he loves me not.

Incidents .

2 4 8 King H enry [Vi— P art f.

Hotspur’

s ironical speeck to kis W572.

Come, wilt thou see me ride ?And, when I am 0

’ horseback, I wil l swearI love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate :I must not have you henceforth question meWhither I go

,nor reason whereabout

Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude,This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.

I know you wise ; but yet no further wiseThan Harry Percy’s wife : constant you are,

But yet a woman : and for secrecy,NO lady closer for I wel l believe,Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,

A nd so far wil l I trust thee, gentle Kate

ACT III .

Prodigies at Glendofwer’

s kirtk.

G ive me leaveTo tell you once again , that at my birthThe front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ;The goats ran from the mountains, and the herdsWere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields .

These signs have mark’d me extraordinary ;A nd all the courses ofmy l ife do showI am not in the roll of common men.

Where is he living, c lipp’d in with the sea

That chides the banks Of England, Scotland,Wales,Which cal ls me pupil , or hath read to me ?And bring him out, that is but woman’s son,Can trace me in the tedious ways of art ,And hold me pace in deep experiments

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2 50 King H enry JV.

—P a rt

Had still kept loyal to possessionAnd left me in reputeless banishment ,A fellow of no mark nor l ikelihood.

By being seldom seen , I could not stir,But, like a comet , I was wonder’d at

That men would tell their children, This is he ;O thers would say, Where —wh ich is Bol ingbrokeA nd then I stole all courtesy from heaven,A nd dress

’

d myself in such humility,That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,Even in the presence of the crowned king.Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ;My presence, l ike a robe pontifical,Ne’er seen , but wonder

’d at ; and so my state,

Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feastA nd won, by rareness, such solemnity.

The skipping king, he ambled up and downWith shallow jesters, and rash bavinTwits,Soon kindled, and soon buru’d ; carded his state ;Mingled his royalty with capering foolsHad his great name profaned with their scorns,A nd gave his countenance, against his name ,To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the pushOf every beardless vain comparative : jtG rew a companion to the common streets,Enfeoff

’d himself to popul arity

That being daily swallow’d by men ’s eyes,

They surfeited with honey, and beganTo loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a littleMore than a little, 18 by much too much.SO, when he had occasion to be seen,

Had kept me loyal to him who possessed the crown .

1 Brushwood . I Competitor.

King Henry V— P a rt 1 .

He was but as the cuckoo is in June,Heard, nOt regarded ; seen, but with such eyes,A s , sick and blunted with community,A fford no extraordinary gaze

,

Such as is bent on sun- like majesty,W hen it shines seldom in admiring eyesBut rather drows ’d, and hung their eyel ids down,S lept in his face and render

’d such aspect

A s cloudy men use to their adversariesBeing with his presence glutted, gorged and full .

P rince Henry’s Defence of Himself:

God forgive them, that have so much sway’d

Your majesty’s good thoughts away from meI will redeem all this on Percy’s head,And, in the closing of some glorious day

,

Be bold to tell you that I am your sonWhen I will wear a garment all of blood,And stain my favours* in a bloody mask,Which, wash

’

d away, shall scour my shame withA nd that shal l be the day, whene

’er it lights,That this same child Of honour and renown,This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,A nd your unthought-ofHarry chance to meetFor every honour sitting on his helm,

W ould they were multitudes and on my headMy shames redoubled ! for the t ime will comeThat I shall make this northern youth exchangeH is glorious deeds for my indignities.Percy is but my fac tor, good my lord,To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ;And I will call him to so strict account,That he shall render every glory up,

Features.

2 5 1

2 52 King H enry [VT— P a rt f.

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,

Or I wil l tear the reckoning fromhis heart.This, in the name of God, I promisehereThe which , ifHe be pleas

’d I shall perform,I do beseech your majesty may salveThe long-grown wounds ofmy i ntemperanceIf not, the end of life cancels all bands ;And I wil l die a hundred thousand deaths,Ere break the smallest parcel* of this vow.

ACT IV.

1 7gallant Warrior.

I saw young Harry, —with his beaver on,H is cul sses '

l' on his thighs, gallantly arm’d

Rise from the ground like feather’ (1 Mercury,And vaulted with such ease into his seat,A s if an angel dropp

’d down from the clouds,

To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,And witchl the world with noble horsemanship.

Hotspur’s Impatienrefor B attle.

Let them comeThey come l ike sacrifices in their trim,

And to the fire-eye’d maid of smoky war,A ll hot and bleeding wil l we offer themThe mailed Mars shall on his al tar sit,Up to the ears in blood . 1 am on fire,To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,And yet not ours — come, let me take my horse,Who is to bear me, l ike a thunderbolt,Against the bosom of the Prince ofWalesHarry to Harry shall , hot horse to horse,7“Portion . 1 Armour for the thighs. I Bewitch.

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254 King Henry V— P arf I .

Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees,That lie too heavy on the commonwealth ;Cries out upon abuses

, seems to weepOver his country

’s wrongs ; and, by this face,

This seeming brow of justice, did he winThe hearts of all that he did angle for.Proceeded further cut me off the h eadsOf all the favourites, that the absent kingIn deputation left beh ind him here,W hen he was personal in the Irish war.

A cr V.

P rinre Henry’

J modert Cballenge to Hotspur.

Tel l your nephew,

The prince ofWales doth join with al l the worldIn praise ofHenry Percy : by my hopes,This present enterprise set off his head

,

I do not think a braver gentleman,More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,More daring , or more bold, is now alive,To grace this latter age with noble deeds.For my part, I may speak it to my shame,I have a truant been to chival ry ;A nd so I hear he doth account me too

Yet this before my father’s majesty,

I am content, that he shall take the oddsOf his great name and estimationAnd wil l to save the blood on either side,Try fortune with him in a single fight.

Falrtafl'

r Cater/955m.

Well,

’t is no matter ; honour pricks me on .

but how if honour prick me offwhen I come on ?

King H enry” Ii — P a rt f. 2 55

then ? Can honour set to a l No. Or an arm?No. Or take away the grief o : a gourd No

. Ho

nour hath no skil l in a ge: the -i ? t at is

honour ? A word . What is in t in t w d honour ?What is that honour ? A ir. A trim 1 ck niugWho hath it ? He that died 0

’ Wednesday. Doth hefeel it ? No . Doth he hear it ? No . Is it i :siblethen Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with theliving ? No. Why ? Detract ion will not suffer ittherefore I ’l l none of it : honour is amere scutcheon,and so ends my catechism.

Vernon’s Deseri

i

gbl ian qf P rince Henry’J Cballenge.

No,by my soul I never in my l ife

D id hear a challenge urg’

d more modestly,Unless a brother should a brother dareTo gentle exercise and proof of arms.He gave you all the duties of a manTrimm’

d up your praises with a princely tongueSpoke your deservings like a chron icleMaking you ever better than his praise,By still dispraising praise, valued with youAnd, wh ich became him like a prince indeed,He made a blushing cital of himself ;And chid his truant youth with such a grace,A s if he master’d there a double spiritOf teaching and of learning instantly

,

There did he pause ; but let me tell the world,If he outlive the envy of this day,England did never owe so sweet a hope,So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

Lye demands Action.

O gen tlemen, the time of l ife is short ;

256 King Henry [ Ii — P a rt H .

To spend that shortness basely, were too long,If l ife did ride upon a dial’s point,Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

Prince Henry’s Speed) on tbeDeaf/7 of Hotspur.

Fare thee wel l , great heart !Ill-weav’d ambition, how much art thou shrunkWhen that this body did contain a spirit,A kingdom for it was too small a boundBut now, two paces of the vilest earthIs room enough —this earth , that bears thee dead,Bears not alive so stout a gentleman .If thou wert sen sible of courtesy,I should not make so clear a show of zealBut let my favours

* hide thy mangled faceA nd, even in thy behalf, I

’ll thank myselfFor doing these fair rites of tenderness.A dieu, and take thy praise with thee to heavenThy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave,But not remember’d in thy epitaph 1

KING HENRY IV.- PART. II .

The second part of King Henry the Fourth continues his

reign from the battle of Shrewsbury til l his death . One of the

most prominent scenes in this play is that in which the Prince of

Wales finds the crown by the side of his dying father, and placesit on his own head. Another striking feature is the determination or the prince, on his father

'

s death,to forsake the scenes of

as The scarfwith which he covers Hotspur.

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2 58 King H enry [V— P a rz

‘ H .

He ask’d the way to Chester, and of him

I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.He told me that rebellion had bad luck,A nd that young Harry Percy’s spur was coldWith that, he gave his able horse the head,A nd, bending forward, struck his armed heelsAgainst the panting sides of his poor jadeUp to the rowel -head ; and starting so,

He seem’

d in running to devour the way,Staying no longer question.

A M essenger w ith [ll News .

This man’s brow, l ike to a title leaf,Foretells the nature of a tragic volumeSo looks the strondfi

'

Whereon the imperious floodHath left a witness’d usurpation .

as 96 as ix’

Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheekIs apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,So dull, so dead in look, so woe begone,D rew Priam’

s curtain in the dead of night ,A nd would have told him half his Troy was burn’d

96 96 96 96 56

I see a strange confession in thine eye

Thou shak’st thine head, and hold’st it fear orT o speak a truth . If he be slain, say so

The tongue offends not that reports his deathAnd he doth sin that doth bel ie the dead ;Not he, which {says the dead is not alive.Y et the first bringer of unwelcome newsHath but a losing office and his tongue

The strand,the shore .

King H enry [V P a ra! H . 2 59

Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,Remember’d knolling a departing friend.

Dercription of tbe Dea l/3 of Hotspur and Defeat 0]lair Army.

I am sorry I should force you to believeThat which I would to heaven I had not seenBut these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,Rend

’ringfaint quittance , wearied and outbreath

’d

To H arry Monmouth whose swift wrath beat downThe never-daunted Percy to the earth,Fromwhence with life he never more sprung up.

In few,* his death (whose spirit lent a fire

Even to the dullest peasant in his camp ) ,Being bruited ‘

I’ once, took fire and heat away

From the best temper’d courage in his troopsFor from his metal was his party steel ’d ;W hich once in him abated, all the restTurn’d on themselves, l ike dull and heavy lead.And as the thing that ’s heavy in itself,Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed ;So did our men, heavy in Hotspur

’

s loss,Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,

Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,Fly from the fie ld : Then was that noble W orces terToo soon ta’en prisoner and that furious Scot,The bloody Douglas

,whose well-labouring sword

Had three times slain the appearance of the king,i’Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shameOf those that turu’d their backs and, in his flight,S tumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

3“Briefly. TBeing reported.

I Had slain three persons whom he mistook for the king.

260 King Henry I V. P a rt H .

Is, —that the king hath won and hath sent outA speedy power to encounter you, my lord,Under the conduct of young Lancaster,A nd Westmoreland th is is the news at full .

Grenier Griefir destroy tbe lerr

A s the wretch, whose fever-weaken’d joints,Like strengthless h inges, buckle under l ife,Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fireOut of his keeper’s arms even so my limbs,Weaken’d with grief, being now enrag

’d with grief,

A re thrice themselves : hence therefore, thou nice "l

crutchA scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,Must glove this hand : and hence thou sickly quoif,-l'

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,Which princes, flesh’d with conquest, aim to hit.

Now bind my brows with iron ; and approachThe ragged

’st hour that time and spite dare bring,

To frown upon the enrag’d Northumberland !

Let heaven kiss earth Now let not nature ’s handKeep the. wild flood confin

’d ! let order die '

A nd let this world no longer be a stageTo feed contention in a lingering act ;

But let one spirit of the first-born CainRe ign in all bosoms , that , each heart being set

On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,A nd darkness be the burier of the dead !

Tire Fieélenem qf‘

tloe M 05.

An habitation giddy and unsureHath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart .

Feeble . 1‘ A cap worn by an invalid.

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2 62 K ing H enry [Vi— P a rt H .

To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude ;A nd in the calmest and most stil lest night,W ith all appliances, and means to boot,Deny it to a king ? Then happy low l ie down IUneasy l ies the head that wears a crown .

ACT IV .

Tne Cbaraeter of KingHenry 17

. 53) lair Fal laer.

He is gracious if he be observed ;He hath a tear for pity, and a handOpen as day for melt ing charityYet, no twithstanding, being incens’d, he ’

s flintA s humorous as winter, and as suddenA s flaws congealed in the spring of day.

H is temper, therefore, must be well observ’d

Chide him for faults, and do it reverent ly .

When you perceive his blood inclin’d to mirth

But, being moody, give him line and scope ;Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,Confound themselves with working.

Fortune.

Will fortune never come with both hands full,But write her fair words still in foulest lettersShe either gives a stomach, and no food,Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast,And takes away the stomach,— such are the rich ,That have abundance, and enjoy it not .

P rince Henry’

s refl ections on tbe Crown.

Why doth the crown l ie here upon his pillow,

Being so troublesome a bedfellow ?Happy low,

means the bumbler classes.

King Henry JV— P a rz H . 2 63

O , polish’d perturbation ! golden care !

That keeps the ports of slumber open wideTo many a watchful -night -sleep with it now !Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet,A s he, whose brow, with homely biggen* bound,Snores out the watch of night . O, majesty !When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sitLike a rich armour worn in heat of day,That scalds with safety . By his gates of breathThere lies a downy feather, which stirs not :Did he suspire, that light and weightless downPerforce must move — My gracious lord my fatherThis sleep is sound indeed this is a sleep,That from this golden rigol hath divorc’dSo many English kings. Thy due, fromme,Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ;Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,Shall , O dear father I pay thee plenteouslyMy due, from thee, is this imperial crownWhich, as immediate from thy place and blood,Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,

[Putting it on bis bead.

Which Heaven shall guard ; and, put theworld’

swholestrength

Into one giant arm, it shall not forceThis lineal honour from me. This fromtheeW ill I to mine leave, as

’t is left to me.

How quickly nature falls into revoltW hen gold becomes her object !For this the foolish over-careful fathers

264 KingHenry [V— P arl I] .

Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains withcare,

Their bones with industryFor this they have f engross

’d and piled up

The canker’d heaps of strange - achieved gold.

Scene aetween Prince Henry and z‘be King lair Fol lyer.

KING HENRY . Come hither to me, HarryDepart the chamber, leave us here alone.PRINCE HENRY. I never thought to hear you speakagain .

KING HENRY . Thy wish was father, Harry, to thatthought

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,That thouwilt needs invest thee with mine honoursBefore thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youthThou seek

’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.

Stay but a little for my cloud of d ignityIs held from falling with so weak 3 wind,That it will quickly drop : my day is dim.

Thou hast stolen that,* which, after some few hours,Were thine without offence and, at my death,Thou hast seal ’d up my expectationThy life did manifest thou lovd’st me not ,

And thou wilt have me die assured of it.

Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy though ts

Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,To stab at half an hour ofmy life.What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ?Then get thee gone, and digmy grave thyself ;And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear,

Al luding to Prince Henry, having placed the crown on his

head.

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2 66 KingH enry [Vi— P a reH .

Than as your honour, and as your renown.

Let me no more from this obedience rise,(Which my most true and inward-duteous spiritTeacheth ) this prostrate and exterior bendingHeaven witness with me, when I here came in,And found no course of breath within your majesty,How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign,O let me in my present wildness die ;A nd never l ive to shew the incredulous worldThe noble change that I have purposedComing to look on you, thinking you dead,(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were ) ,I spake unto the crown, as having sense,And thus upbraided it The care on thee dependingHath fed upon the body ofmy father ;Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold,O ther, less fine in carat * is more precious,Preserving l ife in medicine potableBut thou, most fine, most honour’d, most renown

’

d,

Hast eat thy bearer up.

” Thus, mymost royal liege,A ccusing it, I put it on my headTo try with it,— as with an enemyThat had before my face murder

’d my father,“

The quarrel of a true inheritor.But if it did infect my blood with joy,Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ;If any rebel or vain spirit ofmineD id with the least affect ion of a welcomeG ive entertainment to the might of it,Let God for ever keep it frommy head !A nd make me as the poorest vassal is,That doth with awe and terror kneel to it !KING HENRY . O my son I

Quality ofthe gold.

King H enry [V— P a ri

‘ H . 2 67

Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,That thou might’st win the more thy father

’s love,

Pleading so wisely in excuse of it .

Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bedA nd hear, I th ink, the very latest counselThat ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,

By what by—paths, and indirect crook’

d ways,I met this crown and I myself know wellHow troublesome it sat upon my headTo thee it shall descend with better quiet,Better opinion, better confirmationFor all the soil

'x'of the achievement goes

With me into the earth . It seem’d in me

But as an honour snatch’d with boisterous handAnd I had many living to upbraidMy gain of it by their assistancesWhich daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fearsThou seest

,with peril I have answered :

For all my reign hath been but as a sceneA cting that argument and now my deathChanges the for what in me was purchas

’d,

Falls upon thee in a more fairer sortSo thou the garland wear’st successively.Yet, though thou stand’st more sure than I could do,Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ,A nd all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends,H ave but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out ;

By whose fell working I was first advanc ’d,A nd by whose power I wel l might lodge a fear,To be again displac

’d ; which to avoid,I cut them off and had a purpose nowTo lead out many to the H oly Land

Stain . 1 The position of affairs

2 6 8 King H enry [V— P a rt H .

Lest rest, and lying stil l, might make them lookToo near in to my state. Therefore, my Harry,Be it thy course to busy giddy mindsW ith foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out,May waste the memory of the former days.More would I , but my lungs are wasted so,That strength of speech is utterly denied me .

How I came by the crown , O God, forgive !And grant it may with thee in true peace livePRINCE HENRY. My gracious liege,

Youwon it, wore it, kept it, gave it meThen plain, and right , must my possession be ;W hich I, with more than with a common pain,’Gainst all the world wil l rightfully maintain .

ACT V.

p eal of tbe Cbief Juri ice to KingHenry V. ,fw/Jom

be bad Imprisonedrwhen Prince of Wales .

,If the deed were ill,

Be you contented, wearing now the garland,’le

To have a son set your decrees at noughtTo pluck down justice from your awful benchTo trip the course of law, and blunt the swordThat guards the peace and safety ofyour personNay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image,A nd mock your workings in a second body. -l~Question your royal thoughts, make the case yoursBe now the father, and propose a son

Hear your own dignity so much profaned,See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,

Having succeeded to the crown .

1‘ That is,Would you be satisfied foryour representative in the

state to be rudely treated.

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70 King Henry V.

So surfeit-swell’d, so old, and so profaneBut, being awake, I do despise my dream.

Make less thy body hence, and more thy graceLeave gormandising know, the grave doth gapeFor thee thrice wider than for other men.

Reply not to me with a fool-born jestPresume not that I am the thing I wasFor Heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive,That I have turn’d away my former self ;So wil l I those that kept me company .

When thou dost hear I am as I have been,A pproach me ; and thou shalt be as thouwast ,The tutor and the feeder ofmy riotsTil l then I banish thee, on pain of death,A s I have done the rest ofmy misleaders,Not to come near our person by ten mile.For competence of life I wil l al low you,That lack ofmeans enforce you not to evilA nd, as we hear you do reformyourselves ,We will, according to your strength and qualities,G ive you advancement .

KING HENRY V.

This historical play narrates the career of Henry the Fifth,from his ascent of the throne to his marriage with the PrincessKatharine . At the commencement of the play, ambassadors

from France arrive in England, with an insul ting message fromthe Dauphin to the Engl ish monarch . The ambassadors are dis

missed, with a defiance to France from Henry, who, at the head

of his army, proceeds to Southampton, on his way to France

King Henry V. 2 7 I

Here the Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scroop , and Sir Thomas Greyare detected in a conspiracy against the k ing

,and are ordered for

execution. The Engl ish army then proceeds to France,and be

sieges Harfl eur, which is taken . The great battle of A gincourtfol lows, in which Henry, though his army is vastly inferior in

numbers to the French, obtains a signal victory. The play con

eludes with an al liance between Katharine of France and Henry,

and a consequent peace between the two nations. Amongst themost prominent incidents in the play are the scenes in which

Henry, in disguise, visits his soldiers on the night preceding thebattle of Agincourt

,the description of Falstaff

’

s death by Mrs .

Quick ly, and the amusing episode of Fluel len forcing me bul lv

Pistol to eat the leek .

CHORUS.

Invocation of tire Muse.

0 , FOR a muse Of fire, that would ascendThe brightest heaven of inventionA kingdom for a stage, princes to act,

And monarchs to behold the swell ing scene 1Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,A ssume the port ofMars and, at his heels,Leash

’

d in like hounds, should famine, sword,Crouch for employment .

A CT I.

Cons ideration.

Consideration like an angel came,And whipp

’

d the offending Adam out ofhim ;Leaving his body as a paradise,To envelop and contain celestial spirits

2 72 Ki ng Henry V.

Perfection; of KingHenry V.

Hear him but reason in divinity,And, all admiring, with an inward wishYou would desire the king were made a prelateH ear him debate of commonwealth affairs,You would say,

— it hath been all- ln-all his study ;List* his discourse ofwar, and you shall hearA fearful battle render’d you in musicTurn him to any cause of policy,The G ordian knot of it he will unloose,Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks,The air, a charter

’

d libertine, is still,A nd the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears,To steal his sweet and homey’d sentences

The Commonwealth qfB eer

SO work the honey beesCreatures that, by a rule in nature, teachThe act Of order to a peopled kingdom.

They have a king and offi cers of sorts : ‘ l‘Where some, like magistrates, correct at homeO thers, like merchants, venture trade abroad ;Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,Make boot upon the summer’s velvet budsW h ich pillage they with merry march bring homeTo the tent royal of their emperorWho , busied in his majesty, surveysThe singing masons building roofs of gold ;The civilj: citizens kneading up the honeyThe poor mechanic porters crowding inTheir heavy burdens at his narrow gate ;The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,

“ll Listen to. 1~ Different degrees . I Sober, grave.

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2 74 King Henry V.

That shall flywith them : formany a thousand widowsShall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands,Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down.

as as a as at

But this lies all within the wil l ofGod,

To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name,Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on,To venge me as I may, and to put forthMy rightful hand in a

'

well-hallow’d cause.So get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin,H is j est will savour of but shallow wit,When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it .

A CT II.

CHORUS.

Martial Spirit.

Now all the youth ofEngland are on fire,And silken dalliance in the wardrobe liesNow thrive the armourers, and honour’s thoughtReigns solely in the breast of every manThey sell the pasture now, to buy the horseFollowing the mirror of all Christian kings,W ith winged heels, as English Mercuries .

For now sits Expectation in the air ;

A nd hides a sword, from hilt unto the point,W ith crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,Promis’d to Harry and his followers .

Apostropbe to England.

0 England —model to thy inward greatness,Like little body with a mighty heart,What might ’st thou do, that honour would thee do,Were all thy children kind and natural !

King H enry V. 2 75

But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out

A nest of hollow bosoms which he* fillsWith treacherous crowns.

False Appearances t/ae King’

s Reproaclaer to tbe

Traitor Scroop .

0 , how hast thou with jealousy infectedThe sweetness of affiance Show men dutiful ?Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned ?Why

,so didst thou : Come they of noble family ?

Why, so didst thou Seem they religiousWhy, so didst thou or are they spare in diet ;Free from gross passion, or ofmirth or anger ;Constant in spirit , not swerving with the bloodGarnish

’d and deck’d in modest complement

Not working with the eye, without the ear,

A nd, but in purged judgment, trusting neitherSuch , and so finely bolted, lr

' didst thou seemAnd thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued, §With some suspicion.

Dame Quietly/

s Account of Falrtafl’r Deatn.

’A made a finer end, and went away, an it had beenany Chrisom child ;

’a parted even just between twelve

and one, e’en at turning O’ the tide for after I saw himfumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smileupon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was but one way ;for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’

a babbled of

green fields.

i . e ., The KingOfFrance . 1" Accomplishment . I Sifted.

Endow’

d. I] A child notmore than amonth old.

KingHenry V.

KingHenry’s Cbaracter éy tlac Conrtai le of France.

You are too much mistaken in this kingQuestion, your grace, the late ambassadors,With what great state he heard their embassy,How well supplied with noble counsellors,Howmodest in exception,* and, withal,How terrible in constant resolution,And you shall find, his vanities forespent -jWere but the outside of the Roman Brutus,Covering discretion with a coat of folly ;A s gardeners do with ordure hide those rootsThat shall first spring, and be most delicate.

A CT III .

CHORUS.

Descriotion of a Fleet setting Sail.

Suppose, that you have seenThe well-appointed king at Hampton pierEmbark his royalty ; and his brave fleetWith silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning .

Play with your fancies ; and in them behold,Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbingH ear the shrill whist le, which doth order giveTo sounds confus’d : behold the threaden sails,Borne with the invisible and creeping Wind,D raw the huge bottoms through the furrow

’d sea

,

Breasting the lofty surge.

KingHenry’3 Address to bis Soldiers at Harfleur .

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, - oncemore,

Or close the wall up with our English dead !In making objections. 1 Wasted

,exhausted.

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2 78 King Henry V.

Each battle sees the other‘

s umber’d* faceSteed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighsPiercing the night’s dull ear ; and from the tents,The armourers, accomplishing the knights,With busy hammers closing rivets up,G ive dreadful note of preparation.The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,A nd the third hour of drowsy morning name.Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,The confident and over- lusty

'

l' French

DO the low- rated English play at diceAnd chide the cripple tardy-gaited nightWho, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limpSo tediously away. The poor condemned English,Like sacrifices, by their watchful firesS it patiently, and inly ruminateThe morning’s danger ; and their gesture sad,Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,Presenteth them unto the gazing moonSo many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will beholdThe royal captain of this ruin’d band,Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,Let him cry— Praise and glory on his head !For forth he goes, and visits all his host ;Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile ;A nd calls them— brothers, friends, and countrymen.

Upon his royal face there is no note,How dread an army hath enrounded himNor doth he dedicate one jot of colourUnto the weary and all-watched nightBut freshly looks, and overbears attaint,With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ;That every wretch, pining and pale before,Discoloured by the gleam of the fires. 1 Over- saucy.

KingHenry V 2 79

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looksA largess universal, like the sun,

H is liberal eye doth give to every one,Thawing cold fear.

Scene on tbc Field of Algincourt deteveen the King in

D isguise, and Bates , Court, and Williamr.

COURT. Brother John Bates, is not that the morningwhich breaks yonder ?BATES. I think it be : but we have no great cause

to desire the approach of day .

WILLIAM S. We see yonder the beginning of the day,but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. Whogoes thereKING . A friend.WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you?KING. Under Sir Thomas ErpinghamWILLIAMS . A good old commander, and a most

kind gentleman ; I pray you, what thinks he of our

estateKING . Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look

to be washed off the next tide.BATES. He hath not told his thought to the king.KING . No ; nor it is not meet he should . For

though I speak it to you, I think the king is buta man

, as I am ; the violet smells to him as it

cloth to me ; the element shows to him as it ’

clothto me ; all his senses have but human conditionshis ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appearsbut a man ; and though his affections are highermounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoopwith the like wing ; therefore, when he sees reasonof fears, as we do, his fears, out Of doubt, be of the

(hgal ities.

2 8 0 KingHenry V.

same relish as ours are : Yet in reason, no man shouldpossess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, byshowing it, should dishearten his army.BATES. He may showwhat outward courage he wil l

but, I believe, as cold a night as’t is, he could wish

himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so I wouldhe were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we werequit here .

KING . By my troth , I wil l speak my conscience of

the king I think, he would not wish himself anywherebut where he is .

BATES. Then I would he were here alone ; so shouldhe be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men’s livessaved.

KING . I dare say, you love him not so ill , to wishhim here alone ; howsoever you speak this, to feel othermen’s minds methinks, I could not die any where so

contented, as in the king’s company ; his cause beingjust, and his quarrel honourable .

WILLIAMS . That ’s more than we know.

BATES . Ay, or more than we should seek after ; forwe know enough , ifwe knowwe are t he king

’s subjects

if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipesthe crime of it out of us.

WILLIAM S. But if the cause he not good, the kinghimself hath a heavy reckoning to make when all tho se

legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall

join together at the latter day,*and cry all— W e died

at such a place ; some, swearing some, crying for a

surgeon some, upon their wives left poor behind themsome, upon the debts they owe some, upon theirchildren rawly

’

l‘ left. I am afeard there are few die

well, that die in battle ; for how can they charitablyThe last day. the day ofjudgment . 1 Suddenly.

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28 2 King Henry V.

is the king’s but every subject’s soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sickman in his bed, wash every mote out of !his conscience :and dying so, death is to him advantage or not dying,the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparationwas gained ; and, in him that escapes, it were not sin tothink, that making God so free an offer, He let him

outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach othershow they should prepare.WILLIAMS.

’T is certain, every man that di es ill,the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answerfor it.

Tbc M yerier ofRoyalty.

0 hard condition twin born with greatness,Subjected to the breath of every fool,Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing!What infinite heart’s case must kings neglect,That private men enjoy !And what have kings, that privates have not too,Save ceremony, save general ceremony ?And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ?What kind of God art thou, that suff’rest moreOfmortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ?What are thy rents ? what are thy comings inO ceremony, show me but thy worthW hat is thy soul of adorationA rt thou aught else but place, degree, and form,

Creating awe and fear in other menW herein thou art less happy being fear’dThan they in fearing .

What drink’st thou oft, instead ofhomage sweet,

What is the real worth and intI insic value of adoration ?

King Henry V. 2 8 3

But poison’

d flattery ? O , be sick, great greatness,A nd bid thy ceremony give thee cureThink

’st thou the fiery fever will go out

With titles blown from adulationWill it give place to flexure and low bending ?Canst thou, when thou command’st the beggar’s knee,Command the health of it No, thou proud dreamThat play

’st so subtly with a king’s repose

I am a king, that find thee ; and I know,

’T is not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,The sword, the mace, the crown-imperial,The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl ,The farced " title running ’fore the king,The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pompThat beats upon the high shore of this world,No, not all these, th

’rice gorgeous ceremony,Not all these laid in bed majestical,Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,Who, with a body fill’d, and vacant mind,G ets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful breadNever sees horrid night, the child of hellBut , like a lackey, from the rise to set,

Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all nightS leeps in Elysium next day, after dawn,Doth rise, and help Hyperion—i; to his horse,A nd follows so the ever-running yearW ith profitable labour, to his graveA nd, but for ceremony, such a wretch,W inding up days with toil , and nights with sleep,Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king .

Farced is stuffed . The tumid puffy titles with which a

king’s name is introduced.

1 The sun .

2 84 King ffenry V.

Grandpré’r description of tbc mireraéle State of tbc

English Army.

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,Ill-favour’dly become the morning fieldTheir ragged curtains* poorly are let loose,A nd our air shakes them passing scornfully.B igMars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host ,A nd faintly through a rusty beaver peeps .

Their horsemen sit l ike fixed candlesticks,W ith torch-staves in their hand : and their poor jadesLob down their heads, dropping the hides and hipsThe gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes ;And in their pale dul l mouths the gimmall

‘ bit

Lies foul with chew’

d grass, stil l and motionless ;A nd their executors, the knavish crows,Fly o

’er them all, impatient for their hour.

King Henry’s Speech defore tne B attle of Hgincourt.

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,And rouse him at the name of Crispian,IHe that shall live this day, and see old age,

W ill yearly on the vigil feast his friendsAnd say

— to-morrow is saint CrispianThen will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars

,

A nd say, these wounds I had on Crispin’

s day.

Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot,But he

’ll remember, with advantages,What feats he did that day then shall our names,Familiar in their mouths as household words,H arry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,

Colours . TRing.

I St . Crispin’s day, on which the battle was fought .

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2 86 K ingH enry V.

Break out into a second course ofmischief,Killing in relapse ofmortality.

Let me speak proudly — Tel l the constable,We are but warriors for the working day ; *

Our gayness and our gilt, are all besmirch’dWith rainy marching in the painful field ;

1

There ’s not a piece of feather in our host

(Good argument , I hope, we shall not fly ) ,A nd time hath worn us into slovenryBut, by the mass, our hearts are in the trimAnd my poor soldiers tel l me -

yet ere nightThey ’ll be in fresher robes ; or they will pluckThe gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads,A nd turn them out Of service. If they do this

(A s, ifGod please, they shall ) , my ransom thenWill soon be levied . H erald, save thou thy labour ;Come thou no more for ransom, gentle heraldThey shall have none, I swear, but these my jointsWhich if they have as I wil l leave ’

em to them,

Shall yield them little, tell the constable.

ACT V.

Tlae M iseries of War .

Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleach

’d

Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair,Put forth disorder’d twigs : her fallow leasThe darnel , hemlock, and rank fiamitory,Doth root upon while that the coulterTrusts,That should deracinate I such savageryThe even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth

ii" Indifferently Clad. TPloughshare .

I To deracinate is to force up by the roots .

King Henry V] .—P art f. 2 87

The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,

‘ Conceives by idleness : and nothing teems,But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,Losing both beauty and utility ;And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ;Even so our houses, and Ourselves, and children,H ave lost, or do not learn, for want of time,The sciences that should become our country.

—000

KING HENRY VI. - PAR'

r I.

This play records the strife between the English and French,which is renewed on the death of Henry the Fifth, and the con

tract ofmarriage between Henry the Sixth and Margaret ofAnjou.

Joan ofArc,who is a prominent character in the play, after some

successes against the Engl ish, is taken prisoner, and condemned tobe burnt at the stake.

ACT I .

GLORY is like a circle in the water,Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,Till, by broad Spreading, it disperse to nought.

ACT V.

Tbc Earl of Sufi /é s Admirationfor Margaret

I have no power to let her passMy hand would free her, but my heart says

— no .

2 8 8 King Henry VZ— P a rt I ] .

A s plays the sun upon the glassy streams,Twinkling another counterfeited beam,

SO seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.

Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak.

T/ae Earl of Sufi /45’

s Description ofMargaret

This superficial taleIs but a preface of her worthy praise.

The Chief perfect ions ofthat lovely dame

(Had I sufficient skill to utter them)Would make a volume of enticing lines,Able to ravish any dull conceit .And, which is more, she is not so divine,SO full replete with Choice of all delights,But, with as humble lowliness ofmind,She is content to be at your command .

Marriage is a matter ofmore worthThan to be dealt in by attorneyship.*

are are e as ale

For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,An age of discord and continual strife ?Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss,And is a pattern of celestial peace.

KING HENRY VI.—PART II .

In the Second Part ofHenry the Sixth, Shakspere introduces usto the feud, in its incipient state, between the rival houses ofY ork

it By the agency of another.

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290 KingHenry VZ— P art [12

And, when I start, the envious people laugh,And bid me be advised how I tread.

ACT III.

Silent Resentment Deepest.

Smooth runs the water, where the brook isAnd in his simple show he harbours treason.

A Guilty Countenance.

Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyrannySits in grimmajesty, to fright the world.

Description of a M ura’erea

'Person.

See how the blood is settled in his faceOft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,*

Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,Being all descended to the labouring heartWho, in the conflict that it holds with death,A ttracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy ;Which with the heart there cools and ne’er returnethTo blush and beautify the cheek again .But see, his face is black and full of blood ;H is eyeballs further out than when he liv’d,Staring full ghastly like a strangled manHis hair uprear

’d, his nostrils stretch’d with struggling ;

His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp

’d

A nd tugg’d for life, and was by st rength subdued

Look on the sheets, his hair, you see is stickingH is well-proportion

’d beard made rough and rugged,Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged.

It cannot be, but he was murder’(1 hereThe least of all these signs were probable.

The body of a person who has died a natural death is here

meant.

KingHenry VZ— P art H . 2 9 1

Agood Conscience.

What stronger breast-plate than a heart untaintedThrlce i s he arm’d that hath his quarrel justAnd be but naked though lock’d up in steel.Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Szfflo/b’

s remorseless Hatred of bis Enemies .

A plague upon them wherefore should I cursethem

Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan ,I would invent as bitter-searching terms,A s curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,Deliver’(1 strongly through my fixed teeth,With full as many signs of deadly hate,A s lean-faced Envy. in her loathsome caveMy tongue should stumble in mine earnest wordsMine eyes shal l sparkle like the beaten flintMy hair be fixed on end, as one distractAy, every j oxnt should seem to curse and banAnd even now my burden

’

d heart would break,Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink !G all, worse than gall, the daintiest that they tasteTheir sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees !Thei r chiefest prospect, murdering basilisksTheir softest touch, as smart as l izard’s stings ;Their music frightful as the serpent’s hiss ;A nd boding screech-owls make the concert fullA ll the foul terrors in dark-seated hell .

PartingLovers .

And banished I am, if but from thee.Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone.0 , go not yet -Even thus two friends condemn’d

292 King Henry V[.

—P a rt H .

Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,Loather a hundred times to part than die.

Yet now, farewell ! and farewell life with thee !

Deatbprzfi ’rable to separationfrom a Lower.

If I depart from thee, I cannot liveAnd in thy sight to die, what were it else,But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ?H ere could I breathe my soul into the air,

A s mild and gentle as the cradle-babe,Dying with mother’s dugbetween its lips.

Tbc Deatb-bea'Horrors of a Guilty Conscience.

Bring me unto my trial when you will .D ied he not in his bed ? where should he dieCan I make men live, whe’r they will or noO torture me no more, I will confess.A live again ? then show me where he is ;I ’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him.

He hath no eyes, the dust hath bl inded them.

Comb down his hair ; look ! l ook it stands upright,Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soulG ive me some drink : and bid the apothecaryBring the strong poison that I bought of him.

A CT IV.

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful dayIs crept into the bosom of the sea ;

A nd now loud howling wolves arouse the jadesThat drag the tragic melancholy night ;Who with their drowsy, slow, and fl agging wingsClip dead men’s graves, and from their misty jawsBreathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

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294 KingHenry VI— P art

Within whose circuit is Elysium,

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

A Hangry Lion described.

So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch

That trembles under his devouring pawsAnd so he walks, insulting o ’er his preyAnd so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.

Tbc B abe of f are on tbc gal/ant B eba fviour of bigSons .

My sons— God knows what hath bechanced themBut this I know, - They have demean’d themselvesLike men born to renown, by life or death .

Three times did Richard make a lane to me ;A nd thrice cried, Courage, father fight it out ! ”

And full as oft came Edward to my side,W ith purple falchion, painted to the hiltIn blood of those that had encounter

’d him

A nd when the hardiest warriors did retire,Richard cried Charge ! and give no foot ofgroundAnd cried A crown, or e lse a glorious tombA sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre ! ”

With this, we charged again : but , out , alas IW e bodg

’d* again ; as I have seen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide,And spend her strength with overmatching waves.

A Fatber’s Passion on tbc fidura'er of a Favourite Obi/d.

O, tiger’

s heart, wrapp’d in a woman ’s hide

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,To bid the father wipe his eyes withal ,

l ”

That is, we boggled, made bad or bungl ing work of our

attempt to rally.

KingHenry VZ— P art H f.

And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face ?

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexibleThou stern, obdurate, fl inty, rough, remorseless.

as as as as ‘X as

That face of his the hungry cannibalsWould not have touch’d, would not have stain’d withblood

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,O, ten t imes more, -than tigers ofHyrcaniaSee, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tearsThis cloth thou dipp

’dst in blood ofmy sweet boy,

And I with tears do wash the blood away.Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of thisA nd if thou tell’st the heavy story right,Upon my soul the hearers will shed tears ;Yea

,even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,

And say,-A las, it was a piteous deed

A e'

r II.

Tbe Dube of Torb in Battle.

Methought he bore him* in the thickest troop,A s cloth a lion in a herd of neat r !Or as a bear, encompass

’

d round with dogs ;Who havingpinch

’d a few, and made them cry,

The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.

See how the morning opes her golden gates,And takes her farewell of the glorious sun I

How well resembles it the prime of youth,Trimm’

d like a younker prancing to his love

Demeaned himself. 1 Cattle, cows, oxen ,etc .

I Aurora takes for a time her farewel l of the sun,when she

dismisses him to his diurnal course .

296 King Henry Vi a— P art Hf.

Tbc Morning’s Dawn.

This battle fares l ike to the morning’s war,When dying clouds contend with growing lightWhat time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

Tbc Blessings of a Sbepberd’s Life.

0 , God methinks it were a happy life,To be no better than a homely SwainTo sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,Thereby to see the minutes how they runHow many make the” hour full complete,How many hours bring about the day,How many days will finish up the year,How many years a mortal man may live.When this is known, then to divide the timesSo many hours must I tend my flock ;Somany hours must I take my rest

So many hours must I contemplate ;So many hours must I Sport myself ;

as ee 99 i s

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece ;So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,Pass

’d over to the end they were created,

W ould bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.Ah, what a life were this how sweet ! how lovely !G ives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shadeTo shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,Than doth a rich embroider’d canopyTo kings that fear their subjects’ treachery !0 yes, it doth a thousand fold it doth.And to conclude, —the shepherd

’

s homely curds,

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298 King Henry Vf — P art Hf.

To disproportion me in every part,Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp,That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be beloved ?

Gloster’s D iss imulation.

Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile ;And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart ;And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,And frame my face to all occasionsI’l l drown more sailors than the mermaid shallI ’ll slay more gazers than the basilisk ;I ’ll play the orator as well as Nestor ;Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,And, like a Sinon, take another TroyI can add colours to the cameleonChange shapes with Proteus for advantages,A nd set the murd’rous Machiavel to school .Can I do this and cannot get a crown ?

ACT IV.

Henry 7 1. on bis ocon Lenity.

I have not stopp’d mine ears to their demands,

Nor posted off their suits with slow delaysMy pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,My mildness hath allay

’d the ir swellinggriefs,Mymercy dried their water-flowing tearsI have not been d esirous of their wealth,Nor much oppress

’d them with great subsidies,Nor forward of revenge, though they much err

’d.

King Henry VL— P art H ] . 2 99

ACT V

Dying Speecb of tbc Earl ofWarw icb.

Ah, who is nigh ? come to me, friend or foe,And

,

tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ?Why ask I that ? mymangled body shows,My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,That I must yieldmy body to the earth,A nd by my fall, the conquest to my foe.

Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge,Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,Whose top branch over—peer

’d Jove’s spreading tree,A nd kept low shrubs fromwinter’s powerful wind.These eyes, that now are dimm’

d with death’s blackveil ,

Have been as piercing as the mid day sun,To search the secret treasons of the worldThe wrinkles in my brows, now fill

’d with blood,

Were liken’d oft to kingly sepulchresFor who liv’d king, but I could dighis grave ?And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow ?

Lo, now my glory smear’

d in dust and blood !My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,Even now forsake me and of all my lands,Is nothing left me but my body

’

s length.Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dustAnd, live we howwe can, yet die we must.

Queen M argaret’s Speecb before tbc Battle ofTewbsbury.

Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say,

My tears gainsay for every word I speak,Unsay, deny.

30 0

Ye see, I drink the water ofmine eyes.Therefore, no more but this z— Henry your sovereignIs a prisoner to the foe his state usurp

’

d,

His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,His statutes cancell’d, and his treasure spent ;And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.You fight in justice : then in God’s name, lords,Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

Omens on tbc B irtb ofRicbard [I] .

The owl shriek’d at thy birth, an evil signThe night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ;Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempests shook down trees;The raven rook’d’l’ her on the chimney’s top,And chatteringpies in dismal di scord sung.

KING RICHARD III.

This historical tragedy describes the sanguinary career of KingRichard, his murder of his brother (the Duke of Clarence) , and thetwo young princes in theTower, and his final overthrowand death,

at the battle of Bosworth Fiel d,by the Earl of Richmond, after

wards Henry the Seventh,who unites the rival houses ofYork and

Lancaster, and ends the wars of the white and red roses. Dr.

Johnson describes this play as one of the most celebrated of Shak

spere’

s performances, but adds I know not whether it has not

happened to him, as to others, to be praised most when praise isnot most deserved. That this play has scenes, noble in them

selves, and very wel l contrived to strike in the exhibition, cannot

be denied 5 but some parts are trifl ing, others shocking, and someimprobable .

To rook signified to squat down or lodge on any thing.

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30 2 King R iobard Hf.

Gloster’

s Lovefor Lady Anne.

Those eyes of thine frommine have drawn salt tears,Sham’d their aspects with store of childish dropsThese eyes which never shed remorseq tear,Not, when my father York and Edward wept,To hear the piteous moan that Rutland madeWhen black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him

Nor when thy warlike father, l ike a child,Told the sad story ofmy father

’s death

And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep,That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,Like trees bedash’d with rain in that sad timeMyma

'nly eyes did scorn an humble tearAnd what these sorrows could not thence exhaleThy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

I never sued to friend nor enemy ;My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word ;But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

Gloster’s praises of bis own P erson after bis

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,'

l‘

I do mistake my person all this whileUpon my life, she finds, although I cannot,Myself to be a marvellous proper man.

I ’ll be at charges for a looking-glassAnd entertain a score or two of tailors,To study fashions to adorn my body :Since I am crept in favour with myself,I will maintain it with some little cost.

Pitiful . 1 A smal l French coin.

King B irbara’ H ] . 30 2U

Queen M argaret’s Execrations on Gloster.

The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soulThy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv

’st,

A nd take deep traitors for thy dearest friendsNo sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,Unless it be while some tormenting dreamAErights thee with a hell ofugly devilsThou elvish-mark’d abort ive, rooting hog

Higb B irtb.

I was born so high,Our aiery buildeth in the cedar’s top,And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Gloster’s Hypocrisy.

But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,Tel l them that God bids us do good for evil :And thus I clothe my naked villanyWith old odd ends stolen forth ofHoly WritAnd seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Clarence’

s Dream; Scene between Clarence and

B rabenbury.

BRAKENBURY. What was your dream, my lord ? Ipray you tell me.

CLARENCE. Methought that I had broken from the

Tower,And was embark’d to cross to BurgundyAnd, in my company, my brother G loster ;Who from my cabin tempted me to walkUpon the hatches thence we look’d toward England

,

And cited up a thousand heavy times,During the wars ofYork and Lancaster,That had befallen us. A s we paced along

30 4 KingK icbara’ Hf.

Upon the giddy footingof the hatches.Methought that G loster stumbled and, in fallingStruck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,Into the tumbling bil lows of the main .0 Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown !What dreadful noise ofwater in mine ears !What sights of ugly death within mine eyes !Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;A thousand men, that fishes gnaw

’d uponWedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,All scatter

’d in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men’s skulls ; and, in those holes

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept

(A s’twere in scorn of eyes ) reflecting gems,

That woo’d th‘e slimy bottom of the deep,And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatter’d by.BRAKENBURY. Had you such leisure in the time ofdeath

To gaz e upon these secrets of the deepCLARENCE. Methought I had ; and often did I strive

To yield the ghost : but still the envious floodKept in my soul , and would not let it forthTo seek the empty, vast , and wand

’

ringair.

But smother’d it within my panting bulk,*Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY. Awak’d younot with this sore agony ?

CLARENCE. 0 , no, my dream was lengthen’d after

life ;0 , then began the tempest to my soulI pass

’d, methought, the melancholy flood,

With that grim ferryman which poets wri te of,Unto the kingdom of perpetual night .

Body .

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30 6 King R icbard Hf.

And, for unfelt imaginations,They often feel a world ofrestless caresSo that between their titles and low name.There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.

ACT II .

Deceit.

Ah, that decei t should steal such gentle shapes,And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice

Submiss ion to Heaven our Duty.

In common worldly things, ’t is call’d ungrateful,

With dull unwillingness to repay a debt,Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lentMuch more to be thus opposite with heaven,For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

Tbc Ducbess of Torb’s Lamentationfor tbcM iyortunes

of ber Famiiy.

A ccursed and unquiet wrangling daysHow many of you have mine eyes beheld !My husband lost his life to get the crownAnd often up and down my sons were tost,For me to j oy, and weep, their gain, and lossA nd being seated, and domestic broilsC lean overblown,

'

themselves, the conquerors,Make war upon themselves brother to brother,B lood to blood, self ’gainst self -O , preposte.

‘

ous

A nd frantic courage, end thy damned spleenOr let me die, to look on death no more

King Ric/rare?H ] . 30 7

ACT III.

Tbc Vanity of Trust in Man.

O momentary grace ofmortal man,Which we more hunt for than the grace ofGod !Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ;Ready, with every nod, to tumble downInto the fatal bowels of the deep.

Contemplation.

When holy and devout religious menAre at their beads, ’

t is hard to draw them thenceSo sweet is zealous contemplation .

A CT IV.

Description of tbc Murder of tbc two youngPrinces

in tbc Tower.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done ;The most arch deed of piteous massacreThat ever yet this land was guilty of.D ighton, and Forrest, whom I did subornTo do this piece of ruthless* butchery,A lbeit they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,Wept like two Children

,in their death’s sad story

0 thus, ” quoth D ighton, lay the gentle babesThus, thus,” quoth Forrest, “girdling one anotherWithin their alabaster innocent armsTheir lips were ‘

four red roses on a stalk,Which, in their summer beauty, kiss

’

d each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay ;Merciless

30 8 K ing K icbara’H f.

Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changedmind ;

But , O,the devil -there the villain stopp

’

d ;

When D ighton thus told ou, We smotheredThe most replenished sweet work ofNature,That, from the prime creat ion, e

’er she fram’d.

Hence both are gone, with conscience and remorseThey could not speak ; and so I left them both ,To bear this tidings to the bloody king.

Expedition.

I have learn’d that fearful commentingIs leaden servitor to dull delayDelay leads impotent and snail-pac

’d beggaryThen fiery expedition be my wing ,Jove’s Mercury, and herald for a king !

Queen M argaret’s Upbraidings of Queen E/iz abetb

I call’d thee then vain flourish ofmy fortuneI call’d thee then poor shadow, painted queenThe presentation of but what I was,The flattering index of a direful pageant ,One heav

’

d a-high , to be hurl’d down belowA mother only mock’d with two fair babesA dream ofwhat thouwast ; a garish * flag ,To be the aim of every dangerous shot ;A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ;A queen in jest, only to fill the scene .

W here is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ?Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ?Who sues, and kneels, and says God save the queen P

Where he the bending peers that flatter’d thee ?Where be the thronging troops that follow’

d thee ?Flaring

,conspicuous.

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3 I 0 King K icbard Hf.

Lies now even in the centre of this isle,Near to the town of Leicester, as we learnFrom Tamworth thither, is but one day

’

s march.

In God’s name, cheerly on, courageous friends,To reap the harvest of perpetual peaceBV this one bloody trial of sharp war.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallows wings,Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

Daybreab.

The silent hours steal on,And flaky darkness breaks within the east.

Ricbmond s Prayer bgfore tbc Battle.

0 Thou, whose captain I account myself,Look on my forces with a gracious eyePut in their hands thy bruising irons ofwrath,That they may crush down with a heavy fallThe usurping helmets of our adversaries !Make us thyministers of chastisement,That we may praise thee in thy victoryTo thee I do commend my watchful soul,Ere I let fall the windows ofmine eyesSleeping, and waking, O, defend me still !

Ricbard Starting out of bis Dream.

G ive me another horse, -bind up my wounds,Have mercy, Jesu — Soft ; I did but dream.

0 coward conscience, how dost thou affl ict me !The lights burn blue — It is now dead midnight.Cold fearful drops stand on my tremblingflesh .

King Henry VIII . 3 1 I

Conscience.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use,Devis

’d at first to keep the strong in awe.

Riobard s Address before tbe Battle.

A thousand hearts are great within my bosomA dvance our standards, set upon our foes ;Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint G eorge,Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragonsUpon them Victory sits on our helms.

Ricbard’s Desperation on tbc Battlg’ield.

Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,And I wil l stand the haz ard of the die

I think there be six Richmonds in the field,Five have I slain to-day instead ofhimA horse a horse I my kingdom for a horse.

KING HENRY VIII.

In this play is recorded the fal l ofCardinal Wolsey, who, full

of anguish at losing the favour of the king, retires to LeicesterAbbey, where he expires. The dying moments ofKatharine, wife

of the king, are depicted, and the union of the king with AnneBul len. The christening of the Princess El izabeth (afterwards(k een El izabeth ) concludes the play, an eloquent prophecy as toher future greatness beingdel ivered by Archbishop Cranmer. In

speakingof Shakspere’s historical plays, Dr. Johnson pronouncesthe two parts ofHenry the Fourth and Henry the Fifth to possessthe greatest excel lence ; and KingJohn, Richard the Third, andHenry the Eighth, deservedly stand in the second class.

3 I 2 King H enry VIII .

ACT I .

To climb steep hills,Requires slow pace at first : Anger is likeA ful l hot horse, who being allow

’

d his way,

Self-mettle tires him.

Action to be carried on w itb Resolution.

If I am traduced by tongues which neither knowMy faculties nor person,yet will beThe Chronicles ofmy doing, —let me say,’T is but the fate of place, and the rough brake*That virtue must go through. We must not stintOur necessary actions in the fearTo cope i mal icious censurers which everA s ravenous fishes

,do a vessel follow

That is new trimm’d but benefit no furtherThan vainly longing . What we oft do best,By sick interpreters, once § weak ones, isNot ours, or not allow

’

d [I what worst, as oft,H itting a grosser quality is cried upFor our best act. Ifwe shall stand still,In fear our motion will be mock’d or carp

’d at,

We should take root here where we sit, or sitState statues only.

New Customs .

New customs,Though they be never so ridi culous,Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are followed.

A thicket of thorns. 1” Retard. j: Encounter.

Sometimes . I]Approved.

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3 I 4 KingHenry VIII .

A s I saw it inclined. When was the hourI ever contradicted your desire,Or made it not mine too Or which of your friendsHave I not strove to love, although I knewHe were mine enemy ? What friend ofmineThat had to him deriv’d your anger, did IContinue in my liking ? nay, gave noticeHe was from thence discharg

’d Sir, call to mindThat I have been your wife, in this obedience,Upward of twenty years.

Queen Katbarine’

s Speecb to Cardinal Wolsey.

You are meek and humble-mouth’d ;You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,“s

With meekness and humility : but your heartIs cramm’

d with arrogancy, spleen , and pride .You have, by fortune and his highness’ favours,Gone slightly o’er low steps and now are mountedWhere powers are your retainers : and your words,Domestics to you, serve your will, as

’t please

Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,You tender more your person’s honour thanYour high profession spiritual.

KingHenry’s Cbaracter of Queen Katbarine.

That man i’ the world who shall report he hasA better wife, let him in nought be trusted,For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone

( If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,Thy meekness saint-l ike, wife-like government,Obeying in commanding, - and thy partsSovereign and pious else, could speak theeThe queen of earthly queens.

Appearance. 1 Sp eak out thymerits.

King H enry VIII. 3 1 5

A CT III.

Queen Katbarine on ber own M eri t.

Have I liv’d thus long,— ( let me speak myself,Since virtue finds no friends ) , —a wife, a true oneA woman ( I dare say, without vain-glory )Never yet branded with suspicionH ave I with al l my full affectionsStill met the king ? lov’d him next heaven ? obey’dhim

Been, out of fondness, superstitious to himA lmost forgot my prayers to content himAnd am I thus rewarded ’T is not well, lords,Bring me a constant woman to her husband,One that ne’er dream’

d a joy beyond his pleasure,And to that woman, when she has done most,Yet will I add an honour, —a great patience.

Obedience to Princes .

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,So much they love it ; but, to stubborn spirits,They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.

Outward Efi cts of a D isturbed M ind

Some strange commotionIs in his brain he bites his l ip, and startsStops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,Then lays his finger on his temple straightSprings out into fast gait ;Tthen stops again,S trikes his breast hard, and anon he castsH is eye against

,the moon in most strange postures

We have seen him set himself.Served him with superstitious attention. 1 Steps.

3 I 6 King H enry VIZ] .

FirmAllegiance.

Though perils didAbound as thi ck as thought could make them, and

A ppear in forms more horrid, yet my duty,A s do th a rock against the chiding flood,Should the approach of this wild river break,And stand unshaken yours.

External Efi cts of Anger.

What sudden anger ’s this how have I reap’d it ?

H e parted frowning fromme, as if ruinLeap

’d from his eyes so looks the chafed lion

Upon the daring huntsman that has gall’

d him

Then makes him nothing .

Falling Greatnes s .

Nay, then , farewellI have touch’d the highest point of all my greatnessAnd, from that full meridian ofmy glory,I haste now to my setting : I shall fallLike a bright exhalation in the evening,And no man see me more.

Tbc Viciss itudes of Life.

So farewell to the little good you hear me .

Farewell, a long farewell , to all my greatness,This is the state ofman ; to-day he puts forthThe tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,And bears his blushing honours thick upon himThe third day comes a frost, a killing frost ;And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surelyHis greatness is a ripening,— n ips his root,And then he falls, as I do . I have ventured,

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3 I 8 KingH enry VIII .

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear notLet all the ends thou alm’

st at be thy country’s,

Thy God’s, and truth’s ; then, if thou fall’st, OCromwell,

Thou fal l’st a blessed martyr. Serve the kingAnd, —pr’ythee, lead me in ;There take an inventory of all I have,To the last penny ; ’

t is the king’s my robe,

And my integrity to Heaven, is al lI dare now call mine own. 0 Cromwell, Cromwell,Had I but serv’d my God with half the z ealI serv’d my king, he would not in mine ageHave left me naked to mine enemies.

Such a noise aroseA s the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,A s loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks,(Doublets, I think,) flew up, and had their facesBeen loose, this day they had been lost. Such joyI never saw before.

Cardinal Wolsey’s Deatb.

A t last, with easy roads,* he came to Leicester,Lodg

’d in the abbey where the reverend abbot,With all his convent, honourably receiv’d himTo whom he gave these words, 0 father abbot,An old man, broken with the storms of state,Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ;G ive him a little earth for charitySo went to bed where eagerly his sickness

By short stages.

King Henry VIII . 3 1 9

Pursued him still ; and, three nights after this,About the hour of eight (which he himselfForetold should be his last ) , full of repentance,Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,He gave his honours to the world again

,

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

Wolsey’s Vices and Virtues .

So may he rest ; his faults l ie gently on himYet thus far, G riffith, give me leave to speak him,

And yet with charity, He was a manOf an unbounded stomach,* ever rankingHimselfwith princes ; one that by suggestionTied all the kingdom simony was fair play ;His own opinion was his law: i

’the

He would say untruths and be ever double,Both in his words and meaning he was never,But where he meant to ruin, pitiful :His promises were, as he then was, mightyBut his performance, as he is now, nothing.Ofhis own body he was ill, and gaveThe clergy ill example.

as as

This cardinal,Though from an humble stock, undoubtedlyWas fashion’d to i much honour. From his cradle

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one

Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading ;Lofty and sour to them that lov’d him not ;

But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summerAnd though he were unsatisfied in getting,(Which was a sin) , yet in bestowing, madam,

He was most princely . Ever witness for himPride . 1

“ Of the k ing . I Formed for

3 2 0 King H enry VI II .

Those twins of learning that he raised in you,Ipswich and Oxford ! one * ofwhich fell with him,

Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ;The other, though unfinish

’d, yet so famous,

So excellent in art, and still so rising,That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.H is overthrow heap

’d happiness upon him ;

For then , and not till then, he felt himself,And found the blessedness of being littleA nd, to add greater honours to his ageThan man could give him, he died fearing God.

ACT V.

Arcbbisbop Cranmer’s P ropbecy of tbc Future Greatness

of tbe [tyrant P rincess , afterwards Queen Eliz abetb.

Let me Speak, sir,For heaven now bids me and the words I utterLet none think flattery, for they ’l l find them truth .

This royal infant (Heaven still move about herThough in her cradle, yet now promisesUpon this land a thousand thousand blessings,Which time shall bring to ripeness ; she shall be

(But few now living can behold that goodness) ,A pattern to all princes l iving with her,A nd all that shall succeed : Sheba was neverMore covetous ofwisdom and fair virtueThan this pure soul shall be : all princely graces,That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,With all the virtues that attend the good,Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse heHoly and heavenly thoughts still counsel her ;She shall be lov’d and fear

’d : her own shall bless her;

Ipswich.

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3 2 2 P ericles . P rince of Ty re.

mgto kil l him. It has been general ly conj ectured, that portionsonly of the drama were written by Shak spere

’

s hand. The p lay,however

,appears in every edition of the great dramatist

’

s works .

M alone says of Pericles The numerous expressions bearing a

simil itude to passages in the undisputed plays, some of the inci

dents, and in various places the colour of the style, al l combine to

set the seal of Shakspere on the play, and furnish us with proofsthat a considerable portion of it was written by him.

”

A CT I.

Sanctity of a Good M an’s Word.

I ’ll take thy word for faith , not ask thine oath ;Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both .

Description of a P rosperous City .

This Tharsus, o’er which I have government,

(A city, on whom plenty held full hand ) ,For riches, strew

’d herself even in the streets

Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss’

d the cloudAnd strangers ne’er beheld, but wonder’d at ;

W hose men and dames so jetted” and adorn’d,

Like one another’s glass to trim—l them by ;Their tables were stor’d ful l, to glad the sight,And not so much to feed on , as del ight ;A ll poverty was scorn

’

d, and pride so great,

The name of help grew odious to repeat .

Sorrows never come s ingly.

One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,That may succeed as his inheritor.

j et, to strut TTrim,to dress .

INDEX .

ACH ILLES surveying Hector, 89A ction to be carried on with resolut ion, 3 1 2

Advice, 1 36

Advice to a son about to travel, 29Agincourt, scene before the battleof, 2 79

Agincourt, speech of K ing Henrybefore the battle of, 284

Allegiance,firm, 3 1 6

Ambi tion c lad in humil ity, 50

Ambit i ous thoughts , 297Ange lo, his character as 3. Governor,

1 6 1

Anger, 31 2Anger, effects of, 3 1 6Antony after his defeat, 1 0 2

Antony taking leave of h l s servants ,1 0

Antosny, his description of Brutus, 62

Antony, h is despondency, 1 0 3Antony, h is luxury, 99Antony, his oration over Caesar’sbodys 53:

Antony, h l S virtues and vices, 1 0 0Apemantus , his appeal to T imon, 8 1Apology ofLord Say, 293Appeal of the Chief-j ustice toHenryV.,

268

Appearances, false, 2 75Applause, 3 1 8Ariel

’

s des cri ption of managing thes torm, 1

Ariel’

s song, 3, 1 1Army, a routed, 1 70Arthur and Hubert, scene between,

2 2 1

Assass in , countenance of, 2 25A ss ignation, 1 1 8Aufidius , contn t ion of, 98

Authority, a father’s, 1 1 7Authority, priv i lege of, 1 62

C/ESAR’S suspicions of Cassius, 50Cahban

’

s curses, 2, 4Cahban

’

s romi sesPCalumny, 37Capulet and M ontague charged bythe Prince ofVerona, 1 83Capulet, his anger at Jul i e t , 1 99

BANISHMENT, 232Banishment of Belarius described .

1 67Beatrl ce , her awakened love for Be

medick, 1 29Beatrice, her disdainful manner de

scribed, 1 28

Bea trice, her dispos ition described,1 26

Beautiful boy described, 1 2

Beauty, 1 57, 1 88, 2 1 5Beauty peti tioning in vain, 1 9Bees , commonwealth of, 2 72

Benedick’

s disparagement of Bea

trice, 1 25Benedick

’s recantation, 1 2 7

Benedick’

s rid i cule of love, 1 26

Birth, high , 30 3Boasters, 1 3 1 , 2 1 4Bol ingbroke coming into London, 240Braggarts , 1 30 , 1 4 1

Brawler described , 1 95Brutus and Cass ius , quarre l scene

be tween , 57Brutus and Cas sius , parting of, beforethe bat tle of Phil ippi , 62

Brutus , his addres s to the c it i z ens , 52

Buckingham’

s prayer for HenryVIII . , 3 1 3

3 2 8 Index .

Capulet, his consent to the suit of

Paris , 1 85Cautions to youngwomen, 29Chances for success in l ife, 61Cheerfulnes s, 1 0 7Chris tmas time , reverence of, 26ity, a prosperous, described, 32 2

C larence’

s dream, 30 3C leopatra, her death, comments on

by Caesar, 1 0 5C leopatra

,her love forAntony, 1 0 0

Cleopatra , her speech on applyingthe s erpent , 1 0 5

C leopatra,her supposed death de

s cribed, 1 0 4C leopa tra on the Cydnus , 1 00Cons c ience, 3 1 1Conscience , a good, 291Cons cience, a guilty, 8, 292Conscience , a struggl ing, 225Cons ideraton, 2 71C onspiracy, 51Conspiracy

, King John’

s, with Hubert

,2 1 7

Cons tance, reproaches of, 2 1 7Cons tancy

, Cress ida’s profess ions of,

87Contemplation, 307Contempt of Cass ius for Caesar, 48Contention, 257Corde l ia

, her emotion at her s is ters

crue lty, 67Cordel ia, K ing of France’s approvalof, 64Coriolanus, Aufidius’ hate of, 9 1Coriolanus , Aufidius

’ j ealousy of, 97Coriolanus , character of, 92

Coriolanus,his contempt for themob,

94Coriolanus

,his denunciation ofAufi

d ins , 97Coriolanus, his infl exibility, 96Coriolanus, h is popularity, 92Coriolanus , his praise by Cominius , 92Coriolanus, h l S prayer for h is son , 97Cori olanus , h is prowes s , 91Coriolanus, his rekindled love for hiswife , 96

Couns el ineffectual inmisfortune, 1 30Countenance, a guil ty, 290Courage, 73, 2 1 4Courtesy, ceremonious, ins incere , 56Courtier, a conce ited, 1 57Courtier, a noble, character of, 1 38owardice, 232Crammer’s prophecy about QueenEliz abeth, 32 0

Crown, the, resIgned by Ri chard H

239

Crown, transports of, 293Crue l ty, 85Cus toms, new, 3 1 2

DAGGER scene in Macbeth , 74Danger, 246Danger cl ings for support, 22 1Danger whils t s leeping, Oliver's ex

posure to, 1 52

Dawn, approach of, 33, 1 94Dawn ofmorning, 296Daybreak, 1 2 2 , 1 31 , 3 1 0D ea th

,apostrophe to, 1 1 9

Death, approach of, 230D ea th, fear of, 51 , 1 64D eath ofKingJohn, 2 30Death preferable to s eparation of

lovers , 292Death, terrors of, 1 64D eceit , 30 6

Dece it of appearances , 1 1 3Deed

,a good, 1 1 6

D efamation, 1 54Defiance of Edgar to Edmund in

K ing Lear, 70D efiance ofKingJohn to the French,

2 1 2

Delay, 1 4 1

De lights, violent, not lasting, 1 95De sdemona

’

s presentiment of her

death, 1 79

De s ire of a beloved obj ect increasedby i ts loss , 1 30

D espa ir, 227

Despair, a mother’s , 2 1 9Despondency, 22 1D irge in Cymbe line , 1 69D isease

, strength of, when near cure,2 2 1

D isguise, 1 2D is l ike

, excuse for, 1 42D iss imulation, 1 29Dov er Cliff, description of, 67Dreams , 20 5Dreams

, M ercutio’s speech on, 1 86

D runkards enchanted by Ariel, 9

Duty, modes t, 1 23EARLY ris ing, 1

84

E loquence and cant‘

y, 1 61Enchantment , senses returning after,1 0

England, apostrophe to, 235, 2 74England described, 2 1 3 , 2 33England invincible , if unanimous ,2 30

Engl ish army described, 2 1 3, 2 84English curios ity, satire on, 5Envy, 52

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3 3 0 1 77

25552 .

Honour, 88, 246

Honour due to v irtue , 1 39Honour to be conferred on merit

,1 1 1

Hope , 1 9> 1 63, 2 34 7 3 1 0Hope les s love

,1 38

Hotspur, hi s contempt for rhymers,2 49

Hotspur, his dea th described, 259Hotspur, h i s de s cript i on of a fop , 245Hotspur, h i s impat i ence for ba tt le ,

252

Hotspur, his speech before the bat tle ,2 5

Hots

3pur, his speech to h is wife , 248

Hotspur, Lady Percy’

s speech to

h im, 247

II ounds,1 32

Humi l i ty, 1 38, 2 38

Hunting, 1 23Husband sung to s leep by h i s wife,

249Hypocri sy, 1 0 8, 2 2 7IAGO denounced by Ludov ico, 1 82Iago, h i s d i spra i se of hones ty, 1 72

Iago, his hypocri sy, 1 76

Imagination ineffectual to check af

d i ctions, 232

Imaginat i on, power of, 1 23Imogen awaking, 1 70

Imogen,her impatience to meet her

husband, 1 67Imogen reading in bed, 1 66

Imogen sleep ing, 1 66

Incons tancy in man, 2 1

Infant, exposmg of,2 2 , 23

Infidel ity to a fri end, 20

Ingra titude, 64, 1 49Innocence , 2 2

Innocence confirmed by the counte

nance , 1 29Innocence, e loquence of, 2 2

JEALOUSY , 1 76

Je s ter, 1 5

Jo

ys changed

_

to

hgrie

6

f,20 4

u ge, an uprig t , 2 9

Jul ie t described after drink ing the

p ofl on ,20 4

Jul ie t, her anguish at the thought ofmarry ing Paris , 20 0Jul i e t, her appea l to the friar, 20 1

Jul i et, h er impat i ence for Romeo,1 6

Jul iget , her sol iloquy on drinking thepot ion, 20 3

Queen ,her character,

Katharine, Oueen, on her own meri t ,3 1 5

Katharine, Queen, her speech to the

K ing, 3 1 3Katharine , Queen, her speech to

Wolsey, 3 1 4Kent, county of, 293K ingdom, a dis trac ted, 76

King, sanctity of,236

K ing ’

s despa i ri ng sol i loquy in Hle t

, 40

K ings , divinity of, 46

K ings , wicked commands of, 2 26

LABOUR, 1 69Lady des cribed, 2 1 5Lear and Cord e l i a , scene be twe en ,

68

Lear,his exclamations on the tem

pes t, 66Lear, h i s indignation a t Goneri l , 65Lear, on h i s fl atterers , 68

Lear on the dea th ofCorde l ia , 7 1

Lear on the ingrati tude of h i s daughters , 65

Lear to Corde l ia when prisoners , 70Life chequered , 1 4 1

Life demands action, 255Life , refl ect ions on , 78

Li fe,v icis s i tude s of, 3 1 6

Lion, a hungry, described, 294Loquacity, 1 0 7Love, 1 3 , 24 , 1 1 8, 1 85Love, ambi tious, 1 37Love cemented by prosperity, 25Love commended and censured , 1 6

Love compared to an Apri l day ,1 7

Love , contempt of, pun i shed, 1 7Lov e

,Fenton’

s, for Anne Page , 32 4Love, froward, 1 6

Lov e increased by attempts to suppress it , 1 8

Love in idleness , 1 20

Love , power of, 87, 1 59Lov e , unre turned ,

20

Love unsought , 1 5Love, vexa t i ons of, 1 1 8

Lover, a fai thful, 1 1 8

Lover, a, in sol itude , 20

Lover described, 1 46

Lover, humorous description of,1 50

Lover’

s computat ion of t ime, 1 77

Lovers l ight of foot, 1 95Lovers parting, 29 1

Lovers’re luctance to part , 1 98

Lover’

s speech , 3Lute, Lavin ia S inging to, 84

MACBETH described by M alcolm, 75

deaf. 3 3 1

Macbe th, his defiance of his foes , 7 8 N ight,'

1 24 , 292

Macbeth , h is dispos i tion, 72Macbeth, his irresolution, 72Macbe th, his remorse, 74Macbeth, his terror at Banquo’sghos t , 74

Macbe th, Lady, in the s leep-walking

scene , 76

Majes ty, power of, 236Man, his pre

-eminence , 1 54Man, refl ections on, 34 , 66

Man, seven ages of, 1 48

Margare t ofAnjou, Earl of Suffolk’sadmiration of, 287

M argare t of Anj ou, description of,2 88

Margaret of Anjou, upbraidings of,30 8

Marriage, 288Marriage a l ters the temper, 1 51M arri age, a forced, ev ils of, 324M arri age, inequal ity in, 323Martial spirit, 2 74M as ter, a crue l , described, 1 55Mediocrity ,

1 0 7Melanch ly, 47Me lancho ly, Jaques’ description of

,

1 51

M elancholy storie s, 239M ercy, 83 , 1 1 4 , 1 61M ercy, a father

’s appeal for, 84

M e s s enger, a pos t, described, 2 57fMes senger with i ll news , 1 0 1 , 2 58Midnight, 40M ind, a disordered, 37, 3 1 5M ind alone v aluable

,1 34

M ind, diseases of, incurable , 78M i rthfulness of Biron described, 1 58Mob , descript ion of, 90Mob ,

fi cklenes s of, 260

Modes ty and courage in youth, 1 43M oonl ight , 1 1 5Moon , the, 1 1 8

Bl am ing, 2 7, 83, 295hi orn ing, a hun t ing, 84Mother

’

s distress at loss ofher child,220

Mother’

s fondness for her child, 2 1 6Murdered person described, 290Murderer, appearance of

, 2 26

Murder of the two young princesde scribed, 30 7

Muse, invocation of, 271MuS i c, 3 , 1 1 , 1 6

NATURE,bount ies of, 82

Nature , charms of, 84Nature , force of, 1 68

News-tel lers , 2 25

N ight in a camp described, 2 77Nothing good out of season, 1 1 6

PA INTING, 1 32Pardon, despair of, 23Paris described by the nurse, 20 0Paris , eulogy on, 20 0 , 1 86Parolles described by H elena, 1 37Passion dissembled, 1 50Pas tors , ungracious , 29Patience taught more eas ily thanpractised, 1 54

P a trio tism, 4 8 , 9 1Peace after a S i ege, 97Peace after a civ i l war , 243Percy and Prince Henry , characters

of, 244Perfection, human, extent of, 29Perfection needs no addition , 225Pericles’ prayer at sea , 32 2Pe tition, a gentle, 1 47Pe truchio’s mock fl attery of Katha

rina, 1 33Pe truchio’s uncouth wooing, 1 33Philosophy, a shepherd’

s,1 49Philosophers , S toic, sa tire on, 1 3 1Play, effect of one , 35

OBED IENCE, 2 1 5Obedience to princes , 3 1 5Oc tavia, how she should have entered

Rome,1 0 1

Old age, 34, 1 55O ld age desp i s ed, 78Old song, character of, 1 3Ophe l ia, interment of, 46O thel lo and Desdemona , scene be

tween, 1 78

O thel lo, his bed-chamber, scene W i

Desdemona , 1 80O thel lo, his disordered mi nd, 1 78

O the llo, his farewe ll speech, 1 76O thel lo, his j oy on D esdemona

’s

at Cyprus , 1 75Othello, his las t speech , 1 8

O thel lo, his love for D e sdemona,1 75, 1 8 1

O thello , his marriage sole ly for love ,1 72

Othello, his mistaken e s timate of

Iago, 1 75Othe llo, his perplexity after the murder, 1 80

O thel lo, his remorse , 1 8 1Othel lo, h is spee ch to the s enate ,

I 73Othe l lo, his s tory of the handke r

chief, 1 77

3 3 2

Playfel lows , 1 43Pleasure ofdoing good, 8Poetry, power of, with women, 1 9Populace , fi ckleness of, 297Popularity, 2 33Portents , 51Portia’s picture, 1 1 3Portia’s suitors , 1 1 0Power,abuse of, 1 62

Power, vanity of, 236Praise of a lost obj ect, 1 4 1Presen ts p revail with women, 19Prince Henry and his father, scene

be twe en, 264Prince H enry described, 2 55Prince H enry, his chal lenge to Hot

spur,2 34Prince Henry, hi s defence of him

s elf, 2 51Prince Henry,his refl ections on the

crown, 262Prince Henry,his sol iloquy, 244Prince Henry, his speech on death

ofHotspur, 256Prodigies at Glendower’s birth, 248Promi s ing and performance, 82Prospero’s abjurat ion ofmagic, 9Prov idence di rects our actions, 47Puck the fairy, 1 1 9Punctual ity in bargains , 249QUALITIES which become a king, 75REFLECTIONS on a wounded s tag,

I

Reg’dn's profession of fil ial love, 64

Regicides hateful , 22Remons trance , Duchess ofGlos ter

’s,

28

Remgorse ofBol ingbroke , 242

Repentance , 2 1Reputation, 1 76, 23 1Resentmen t s ilent, 290Resolution, 1 0 4, 1 29, 1 61Re spec t

,87

Revenge, 86Richard II .

,his sol iloquy in prison,

2 1

Richard II . , his address before thebat tle , 3 1 1

Richard III . , character of, 309Richard III . desperation In the

battle , 3 1 1

Richard I II . omens at his birth , 30 0

Richard III. s tarting fromhis dream,

3 1 0

R i ches, vanity of, 87

R i chmond’

s address to his army,309

1 722762 .

Richmond’

s prayer before the battle3 1 0

Romeo andJuliet at the bal l, 1 88Romeo and Juliet, garden scene bet ween, 1 89

Romeo and the apothecary, 2 05Romeo, Capulet’s opinion ofh im,

1 88

Romeo in love described, 1 95Romeo, his banishment, 1 96

Romeo, his melancholy, 1 84Royalty, emptines s of, 238Royal ty in-born, 1 69Royal ty, miseries of, 282Rumour, 257Rura l s implicity, 25SELF-ACCUSATION, 1 40S e lf—denial, 1 56Shepherd, characterofan honest one ,

1 50

Shepherd, his life, blessings of, 296Shipwreck, a rus tic

’

s descript ion of,2 3

Shipwreck, escape from, 1 2

Shylock, his anguish a t loss of h i s

j ewels 1 1 2

Shylock, hisdaughter, 1 09

Shylock, his mal ice towards Antonio,

1 0 8

Shylock, his mal ignity, 1 1 4Shylock, his reason for revenge, 1 1 4Shylock, his remonstrance with Antonio, 1 09

Shylock, h i s revenge, 1 1 1S lander, 1 69S landerers, 1 79S leep

, 4 , 51 .

S leep, H enry IV.

’s sol iloquy on, 26 1

Sol itude preferable to a court life, 1 44Song in Cymbel ine, 1 66Song in Much ado about Nothing,

1 26

Song in Twelfth Night, 1 3S onne t in Love

’

s Labour’

s Los t , 1 58

Sorrow, 305Sorrows rarely s ingle, 46, 32 2Speculation eas ier than practice, 1 0 8S tation, low, blessings of, 3 1 3S tatue , a, 25S tudy, 1 57Submission our duty, 306Sunrise , 2 37Sun rising after a dark night, 2 35

injunctions to his

TEARS , a man’s , 2 28Tewksbury,QueenMargaret’s speechbefore the battle of, 299

Thanks , 83

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