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will it shall have scope;



Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Which, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas.-Hath Cassius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?
Bru.-When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru.-And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru.-What's the matter?

Cus. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru.-Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

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

In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
To keep by policy what Henry got?
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
Brave York, and Salisbury, victorious Warwick,
Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?

Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, sat in the council-house
Early and late, debating to and fro,
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe?
And was his Highness in his infancy
Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes ?

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


Ch. Just.-I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your majesty has no just cause to hate me.

P. Henry. No!

How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
Th' immediate heir of England! was this easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his pow'r lay then in me:
And in th' administration of his law,
While I was busy for the Commonwealth,
Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
The majesty and pow'r of law and justice,
The image of the king whom I presented,
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
gave bold


way to my authority,

And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought;
To pluck down justice from your awful bench;
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person:
Nay more, to spurn at your most royal image,
And mock your workings in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son;
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd;
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted;
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;
And then imagine me taking your part,
And in your pow'r so silencing your son.
After this cold consid'rance sentence me;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state,
What I have done that misbecame my place,
My person, or my Liege's sov'reignty.


P. Henry. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well; Therefore still bear the balance and the sword: And I do wish your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did: So shall I live to speak my father's words: 'Happy am I, that have a man so bold That dares do justice on my proper son; And no less happy, having such a son, That would deliver up his greatness so, Into the hand of justice"For which I do commit into your hand Th' unstain'd sword that you have us'd to bear With this remembrance, that you use the same With a like bold, just, and impartial spirit,

-You committed me;


As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand,
You shall be as a father to my youth:

My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practis'd, wise directions.

O MISCHIEF, thou art swift

To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Oh, this same thought did but forerun my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house:
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.


ALL the world's a stage;

And all the men and women, merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances ;
And one man, in his time, plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the INFANT,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And, then, the whining SCHOOL-BOY, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail,
Unwillingly to school.-And, then, the LOVER;
Sighing like furnace; with a woeful ballad,
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.-Then, the SOLDIER ;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour; sudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth.--And then the JUSTICE;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd;

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut;
Full of wise saws and modern instances:
And so he plays his part.—The sixth age shifts;
Into the lean and slipper'd PANTALOON ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.-Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
IS SECOND CHILDISHNESS, and mere oblivion:
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.


Orlan.-Who's there?

Adam. What, my young master! Oh, my gentle master!

Oh, my sweet master! Oh, you memory

Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what makes you here?
Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome

The bony prizer of the hum'rous Duke?

Your praise is come too quickly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?

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