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As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust;
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel :
That is not well, my lord, this is not well.
What say you to't? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war?
And move in that obedient orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhal’d meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times ?

K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 4, s. 1.

EVERY ONE HAS A WEAK SIDE

EVEN CÆSAR. I can as well be hanged, as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery. I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ;-yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ;-and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Cæsar refused the crown, that it had almost choaked Cæsar; for he swooned, and fell down at it: And for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air.

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Before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered them his throat to cut.-An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues :—and so he fell.

When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done, or said, any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, good soul !—and forgave him with all their hearts: But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Cæsar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less.

JULIUS CÆSAR, A. 1, s. 2.

EVIL BEGETS EVIL. AND, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, (As my great power thereof may give thee sense; Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red After the Danish sword, and thy free awe Pays homage to us,) thou may’st not coldly set Our sovereign process; which imports at full, By letters conjuring to that effect, The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; For like the hectic in

my And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.

blood he rages,

HAMLET, A. 4, s. 4.

EVIL CONSCIENCE MAKES

COWARDS.
What man dare, I dare :
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,

:

The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take
any shape

but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!—Why, so;-being gone,
I am a man again.-Pray you, sit still.

Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? you

make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine are blanch'd with fear. It will have blood; they say, blood will have

blood : Stones have been known to move, and trees to

speak; Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought

forth The secret’st man of blood.

MACBETH, A. 3, s. 4.

EVIL DEFENDING ITS OWN.

MILK-LIVER't man ! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering; that not

know'st, Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ; Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and cry'st, Alack! why does he so ?

drum ?

KING LEAR, A. 4, s. 2.

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EVIL ENDEAVOURING TO APOLO

GISE FOR ITS ACTS. LOOK, what is done cannot be now amended; Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam’s name is little less in love, Than is the doating title of a mother; They are as children, but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you

bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss, you have, is but-a son being king, And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul, Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity: The king, that calls your beauteous daughter,

wife,

a

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother;
Again shåll you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see :
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform’d to orient pearl ;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys :
And when this arm of mine hath chàstised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

K. RICHARD III., A. 4, s. 4.

EVIL A QUALITY THAT HAS OFT

NO PRESCIENCE. LADY MACBETH. Was the hope drunk, Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept

since ? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time, Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,

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