PR i Rook '87 Copyright N° COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. SIXTY SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE COMPILED BY GERARD BRIDGE, 0. S. B. ST. VINCENT COLLEGE BEATTY, PA. St. Vincent Archabbey jPrint 1907 I _; .;• >EC 6 \90f ! ■ a Copyright, October 1907, by Gerard Bridge, 0. S. B. +3 TO THE STUDENTS OF ST. VINCENT COLLEGE AND TO HIS PRESENT AND FORMER PUPILS IN THE NOBLE ART OF EXPRESSION THESE SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE ARE CORDIALLY INSCRIBED BY THE COMPILER. PREFACE. -i— i- J|f it is true, as Maurice Francis Egan says, that "there is more intellectual gain in six months' close study of the text and circumstances of 'Hamlet' than in tripping through a dozen books of selections" from other authors, then with equal propriety it may be said that the student of elocution will derive more gain from the close study and proper rendering of one selection from Shakespeare than from a dozen selec- tions from other authors. This is our apology for presenting this little collection of "Selections from Shakespeare." And it is hoped that, while the prime object is to benefit the more advanced student of elo- cution, it may be found to contain many little gems which will awaken an interest and infuse a love for the Works of the Great Master. How far it will succeed in this twofold purpose remains for the future to show. As it is necessary for the thorough understanding of a selection to know what precedes and oftentimes what follows, the act and the scene of the play from xii Preface. which the selection has been taken, have been care- fully indicated, so that the pupil may readily refer to the passage. And it will be found of invaluable aid to both speaker and listener, if a few introductory re- marks leading up to the selection in question are pre- faced. It might not be out of place to suggest that, when possible, the dialogues and scenes should be rendered by one individual. This would give him ample oppor- tunity for displaying all his ability in presenting char- acters widely different. Though this collection does not exhaust the pos- sible selections from Shakespeare, being not even com- plete according to the original plan, yet, with the hope that it may be of some service to the student of elo- cution, it is given to the press. Should the favor of public approval not be accorded to it, other selections will remain in the literary laboratory of the COMPILER. November 13, 1907. TABLE OF CONTENTS. MONOLOGUES. Pace Portia's Plea for Mercy 1 Bassanio's Choice of the Casket 2 Hamlet's Reflections on his Mother's Second Marriage 4 Polonius' Advice to Laertes 5 Hamlet's Reflections on his own Cowardice 6 Hamlet's Soliloquy 8 Hamlet's Instruction to the Players 9 The King of Denmark's Soliloquy 11 Hamlet Spurring Himself to Action 12 Marullus to the Roman Rabble 13 Brutus' Harangue on the Death of Caesar 14 Antony's Funeral Oration 15 Macbeth's Soliloquy ' 19 Macbeth's Apostrophe 20 Macbeth Plotting the Murder of Banquo 21 King Henry's Monologue 23 Fallstaff 's Glorification of Sack 25 Prince Henry's Reflections on the Crown 26 King Henry Unmasking the Hypocrisy of the Nobles 27 King Henry's Address to the Soldiers 30 King Henry's Overture of Peace 31 King Henry's Reflections on the Idle Glories of Kings 32 King Henry's Reply to Westmoreland 34 The Duke of Burgundy Discoursing on the Ravages of War 36 The Duke of York's Ambitions 37 Queen Margaret Lamenting her sad Fate 39 York's Scathing Rebuke of Queen Margaret 41 King- Henry VI. Musing on the Idle Glories of Kings 43 Gloster's Vaulting Ambition 45 Gloster's Aspirations 47 XIV TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page Dream of Clarence 49 Richmond's Address to the Troops 51 Buckingham's Farewell 53 Cardinal Wolsey's Reflections on being cast off by Henry VIII. .. 55 Cranmer's Prophecy of Princess Elizabeth 58 Othello's Apology 60 Meneuius' Speech to the Citizens 62 Menenius Mildly Rebuking the Tribunes 65 Tiinon's Reflections in the Woods 67 Catharine's Discourse on the Duties of a Wife 70 DIALOGUES and SCENES. A Scene from the Merchant of Venice 75 A Scene from the Merchant of Venice 80 A Court of Justice, a Scene from the Merchant of Venice 85 A Scene from Hamlet 97 A Scene from Hamlet 101 Cassius Instigating Brutus against Caesar 107 Antony Lamenting over the Dead Body of Caesar 112 Quarrel between Brutus and Cassius 116 The Murder of King Duncan 120 A Scene from King Henry IV. Part 2 129 Dialogue between Prince Henry and King Henry 134 The Murder of King Henry VI , 138 Gloster Wooing Lady Anne 141 Queen Catharine's Appeal for Justice 150 Iago and Rodrigo Plotting against Othello 157 Iago Instigating Othello against Desdemona 162 Coriolanus's Treachery 173 Volumnia's Victory 176 King John's Remorse 183 Petruchio's Method 186 m^Fm ^onotop^. S^S' Portia's Plea for Mercy. - ^^-^?=*.->t^- MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act IV. — Scene 1. HE quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God Himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much .To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs gfive sentence Vaitist the merchant there. Monologues. Bassanio's Ghoice of the Gasket. MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act III. — Scene 2. Confess, and love, Had been the very sum of my confession, O happy torment, when my torturer MsT^^ Doth teach me answers for deliverance! But let me to my fortune and the caskets. So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being- season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars; Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk? And these assume but valour's excrement, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight; Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it: So are those crisped snaky golden locks, Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The skull that bred them, in the sepulchre. Thus ornament is but the guiled shore Monologues. To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf Veiling- an Indian beauty; in a word, The seeming - truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee: Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, Which rather threat'nest, than dost promise aught, Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! What rind I here? [Opening- the leaden casket] Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 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, And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. You that choose not by the view, Chance as fair, and choose as true! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content, and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving- kiss. 4 Monologues. A g-entle scroll; — Fair lady, by your leave; I come by note, to give, and to receive. Like one of two contending- in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, Hearing- applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no; So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so, As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm'd, signed, ratified by you. Hamlet's Reflections on his Mother's Second Marriage. HAMLET. Act I. — Scene 2. THAT this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on't ! O fie ! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead! — nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, H}^perion to a Satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: And yet, within a month, — Let me not think on't; — Frailty, thy name is woman! — Monologues. A little month; or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body, 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 of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing- in her galled eyes, She married: — O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! It is not, nor it cannot come to good; But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue! Polonius' Advice to Laertes. HAMLET. Act I. — Scene 3. (ET here, Laertes ! Aboard, aboard, for shame ! The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, And you are staid for. There — my blessing with thee ! And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee, 6 Monologues. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but 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 man; And they in France, of the best rank and station, Are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And 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. Farewell; my blessing season this in thee ! Hamlet's Reflections on His Own Gowardice. HAMLET. Act II. — Scene 2. 'OW I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That from her working all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What'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 passion Monologues. That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty, and appal 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 of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Upon whose property, and most dear life, A damm'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat, As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? Ha! Why, I should take it ; for it cannot be, But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain ! Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, That I, a son of a great father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a fool, unpack my heart with words, And fall acursing, like a very drab, A scullion ! Fie upon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I have heard, That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions: For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players Play something like the murder of my father 8 Monologues. Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick: if he do blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen, May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing- shape ; yea, and perhaps, Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds, More relative than this: the play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. Hamlet's Soliloquy. HAMLET. Act III. — Scene 1. JO be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them. To die, — to sleep, — No more; — and, by a sleep, to say we end, The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, — to sleep, — To sleep! perchance to dream; — ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: There's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of disprized love, the Jaw's delay, Monologues. The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something- after death, The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No 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 of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Mallet's Instruction to the Players. HAMLET. Act III. — Scene 11. PEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but, if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town- crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of pas- sion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robust- ious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and 10 Monologues. noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame, neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything- so overdone is from the purpose of playing - , whose end, both at the first, and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, nei- ther having the accent of Christians, not the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeyman had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. And let those, that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them: for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. Monologues. 11 King of Denmark's Soliloquy. - } 3B36>-§- HAMLET. Act III. — Scene 3. MY offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, A brother's murder! Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will ; My stronger guilt defeats my strong- intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first beg-in, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy, But to confront the visage of offence? And what's in prayer but this twofold force, - To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! — That cannot be; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 't is not so above: There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? what rests? To try what repentance can: what can it not? 12 Monologues a Yet what can it, when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom, black as death! O limed soul; that struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe; All may be well! [Retires and kneels. My words fly up; my thoughts remain below: Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. "TV Harriet Spurring Himself to Action. HAMLET. Act IV. — Scene 4. )OW all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If 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, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason To fust in unus'd. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event, — A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom, And ever three parts coward, — I do not know Why yet I live to say "This thing's to do"; Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't. Examples, gross as earth exhort me: Witness this army of such mass and charge, Led by a delicate and tender prince; Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, Makes mouths at the invisible event; Monologues. 13 6 Exposing- what is mortal and unsure, To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough, and continent, To hide the slain? — O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! Marullus to the Roman Rabble. (LESiYR. Act I. — Scene 1. THEREFORE rejoice? What conquest brings he /.id) home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day, with patient expectation, 14 Monologues. 6 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome; And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the g-ods to intermit the plag-ue That needs must lig-ht on this ingratitude. Brutus' Harangue on the Death of Gaesar. CiESAR. Act III. — Scene 2. ^pr^^OMANS, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear; believe iM^y m e f° r mine honor, and have respect to mine l^S^b honor, that you may believe; censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judg'e. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand, why Brutus rose ag-ainst Caesar, this is my answer: — Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were liv- ing - , and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him: but, Monologues. 15 as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valour; and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. All. None, Brutus, none. Brutus. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar, than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences inforced, for which he suffered death. {Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body. ) Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying - , a place in the commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, — that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. Antony's Funeral Oration. C^SAR. Act III. — Scene 2. ^RIENDS, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil, that men do, lives after them; The good is often interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest; — 16 Monologues. & For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable men; — Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says, he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honorable 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 cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O Judgment! thou are fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason! — Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. masters! if I were dispos'd to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and } r ou, Than I will wrong- such honorable men. Monologues. 17 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: Let 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, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg - a hair of him for memory, And, dying - , mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time Caesar ever put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent: That day he overcame the Nervii: — Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through: See, what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it; As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason fiourish'd over us. O, now you weep: and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. 18 Monologues. Kind souls, what, weep you when you behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They, that have done this deed, are honorable: What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, •That made them do't; they are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. Monologues. 19 .*■< Macbeth's Soliloquy. >e^n_?i MACBETH. Act I. — Scene 7. IF it were done, when 'tis done, then t'were well It were done quickly: if the assassination jg Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Mig-ht be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,— We'd jump the life to come. -- But, in these cases, We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being- taught, return To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off: And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. — 20 Monologues. Macbeth's Apostrophe. MACBETH. Act II. — Scene 1. ^S this a dagger, which I see before me, IM The handle toward mv hand? — Come, let me clutch |oafflj thee:- {^^e) I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling - , as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshalFst 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 still; And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, Alarm'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear The very stones prate of my where-about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives; Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. — Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. Monologues. 21 Macbeth Plotting Murder of Banquo. MACBETH. Act III. — Scene 1. jO be thus is nothing - ; But to be safely thus: — Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that, which would be fear'd: 'Tis much he dares ; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters, When first thej^ put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, For Banquo's issue have I fill'd my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, And champion me to the utterance ! To the murderers. Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he, in the times past, which held you So under fortune; which, you thought, had been 22 Monologues. Our innocent self; this I made good to you In our last conference; pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the instruments; Who wrought with them; and all things else, that might, To half a soul, and a notion craz'd Say, Thus did Banquo. And went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature, That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, To pray for this good man, and for his issue Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, And beggar'd yours forever? Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs, and detni-wolves, are cleped All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The house-keeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive Particular addition, from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off; Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Both of you Know, Banquo was your enemy. So is he mine: and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: And though I could With bare-fae'd power sweep him from my sight, And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not, Monologues. 23 For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love; Masking- the business from the common eye, For sundry weighty reasons. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant yourselves. Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought, That I require a clearness: And with him, (To have no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; I'll call upon you straight; abide within. It is concluded: — Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. King Henry's Monologue. HENRY IV. Part II. Act III. — Scene 1. OW many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! — Sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my e} 7 elids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 24 Monologues. And hush'd with buzzing" night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell ? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. O heaven ! that one might read the book of fate; And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea ! and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. Monologues. 25 Fallstaff's Glorification of Sack. HENRY IV. Part II. Act IV. — Scene 3. WOULD, you had but the wit; 'twere better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young- sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh: — but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals that they are generally fools and cowards; — which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sher- ris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it: makes it apprehensive, quick, for- getive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which, de- liver'd o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, be- comes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris- is, — the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm: and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris: So that skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it a-work: and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil; till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavor of drinking good, and good store of 2(> Man oh git es. fertile sherris; that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be, — to forswear thin potations, and addict themselves to sack. — Prince Henry's Reflections on the Grown. HENRY IV. Part II. Act IV. — Scene 5. HY doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being - so troublesome a bedfellow ? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! — sleep with it now! Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, As he whose brow with homely biggin bound, Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, than dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. — My Gracious Lord! my father! — This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep, That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings. Thy due, from me, Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood; Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay the plenteously: My due, from thee, is this imperial crown; Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sets, — Putting it on his head. Monologues. 27 Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. King Henry Unmasking the Hypocrisy of the Nobles. KING HENRY V. Act II. — Scene 2. HEN, Richard, Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; — There } r ours, Lord Scroop of Masham; — and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: — Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. - My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, - We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentlemen? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion? — Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood Out of appearance? The mercy, that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. - See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here, — You know how apt our love was, to accord To furnish him with all appertinents 28 Monologues. Belonging - to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, And sworn unto the practices of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn. — But, O! What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? Thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use? May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder, ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, That wrought upon thee so preposterously, Hath got the voice in hell for excellence. All other devils that sugg*est by treasons, Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he, that temper'd thee, bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon, that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back. Monologues. 29 And tell the leg-ions, — I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's. O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweatness 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 religious? Why, so didst thou: Or are they spare in diet; Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement; Not working with the eye, without the ear, And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man, and best endued, With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, Arrest them to the answer of the law; — And God acquit them of their practices! God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspir'd against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude," His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom unto desolation. Touching our person, seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you Patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! — Bear them hence. — 30 Monologues. King Henry's Address to the Soldiers. KING HENRY V. Act III. — Scene 1. oNCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace, there's nothing- so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tig-er; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage: Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully, as doth a galled rock O'erhand and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height! — On, on, you noblest English, "Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers, that, like so manj* Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. Dishonour not your mothers; now attest, That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war! — And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, Monologues. 31 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining - upon the start. The game 's afoot; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge, Qxy — God for Harry! England! and Saint George! -O^ ^av King Henry's Overture of Peace. KING HENRY V. Act III. — Scene 3. 'OW 3*et resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit: Therefore, to our best mere}- give yourselves; Or, like to men proud of destruction, Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; And the flesh'd soldier, — rough and hard of heart, — In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, — Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is 't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness, 32 Monologues. When down the bill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precepts to the Leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town, and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. If not, why, in a moment, look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? King Henry's Reflections on the Idle Glories of Kings. KING HENRY V. Act IV. — Scene 1. 5PON the king! let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and Our sins, lay on the king; — we must bear all. O hard condition! twin-born with greatness, Subjected to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! Monologues. 33 What infinite heart's ease must king's 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 suffer'st more Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is the soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will 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 dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; 1 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 enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-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, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; 3 34 Monologues. But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse; And follow so the ever-running- year With profitable labour, to his grave. And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. King Henry's Reply to Westmoreland. KING HENRY V. Act IV. — Scene 3. =Y cousin Westmoreland? — No, my fair cousin: If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not, if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour, Monologues. 35 As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company, That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd — the feast of Crispian: He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this da} r is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian. Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And 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, — Harry, the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks, That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 36 Monologues. The Duke of Burgundy Discoursing on the Ravages of War KING HENRY V. Act V. — Scene 2. =Y Duty to you both, on equal love, Great kings of France and England! That I have labour'd >With all my wits, my pains, and strong 1 endeavours, To bring- your most imperial majesties Unto this bar and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, That, face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted; let it not disgrace me, If I demand, before this royal view, What rub, or what impediment, there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not, in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd; And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in its own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached, — Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts, That should deracinate such savagery: The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the sc3 KING RICHARD III. Act I. — Scene 4. I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days; So full of dismal terror was the time. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloster: Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befalTn us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, 4 50 Monologues. Struck nie, that thought to stay him, over-board, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of water 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 upon ; Wedges 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, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Often did I strive To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air, But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. My dream was lengthen 'd after life! 0, then began the tempest to my soul! 1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renouned Warwick, Who cry'd aloud, — "What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by A shadow, like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud, "Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, — That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury; — Monologues. 51 Seize on him, furies! take him to your torments!" — With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell ; Such terrible impression made my dream. O Brakenbury, I have done these things, — That now give evidence against my soul, — For Edward's sake; and, see how he requites me! — God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone; O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! — 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Richmond's Address to the Troops. KING RICHARD III. Act V. — Scene 3. |HE sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams, That ever enter 'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried — On! Victory! I promise you my heart is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 'Tis time to arm, and give direction. — More than I have said, loving countrymen, 52 Monologues. The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on: Yet remember this, — God, and our good cause, fight upon our side; The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; Richard except, those, whom we fight against, Had rather have us win, than him they follow. For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant, and a homicide; One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish 'd; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him: A base foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy: Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children's children quit it in your age. Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords: For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully; God, and St. George! Richmond, and victory! Monologues. 53 Buckingham's Farewell. HENRY VIII. Act II. — Scene 1. |P|||J|LL good people, m\^\ You that thus far have come to pity me, jiAlk Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. ^'^ I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die; Yet, heaven bear witness, And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, Even as the ax falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death, It has done, upon the premises, but justice; But those, that sought it, I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive them: Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me, And dare be bold to w r eep for Buckingham, His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only djnng, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace; 54 Monologues. And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him, You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me, Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live Longer than I have time to tell his years ! Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be! And, when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! When I came hither, I was Lord High Constable, And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward Bohun : Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make them one day groan for 't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, Flying for succour to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all That made me happy, at one stroke has taken Forever from the world. I had my trial, And must needs say, a noble one: which makes me A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, — Both Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: Yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain : Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive Monologues. 55 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell ! And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. — I have done; and God forgive me! Cardinal Wolsey's Reflections on being cast off by Henry VIII. HENRY VIII. Act III. — Scene 2. (King gives papers to Wolsey and departs frowning upon him.) |HAT should this mean? J4 What sudden angr's this? how have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him; Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; 1 fear the story of his anger. — Tis so; This paper has undone me: — 'Tis the account Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom, And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil Made me put this main secret in the packet I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? No new device to beat this from his brains? I know 'twill stir hira strongly; Yet I know 56 Monologues. A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune Will bring me off again. What's this?— "To the Pope?" The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting; I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. So, farewell to the little good you bear me. — Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new open'd: 0, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. — I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities. A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, Monologues. 57 I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour: O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. There was the weight that pull'd me down. Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me; all my glories In that one woman I have lost forever. No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master: Seek the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, — I know his noble nature — not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now and provide For thine own future safety. Cromwell, I did dot think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast fore'd me Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me, Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition! By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, 58 Monologues. The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Than fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; And, — prithee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. Farewell The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. +v .J> .♦, ^> Granger's Prophecy of Princess Elizabeth. HENRY VIII. Act V. — Scene 5. p^ET me speak, sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them, truth. This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be (But few now living can behold that goodness,) Monologues. 59 A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, Than 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 her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows with her: In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him: — Our children's children Sb&ll see this, and bless heaven. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 60 Monologues. An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 'Would I had known no more! but she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. Othello's Apology. OTHELLO. Act I. — Scene 3. 'OST potent, grave, and reverend signiors, H^ My very noble and approv'd good masters, — That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field ; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore little shall I grace my cause, In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charg'd withal, I won his daughter with. I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father. Monologues. 61 If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office, I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How 1 did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me, Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood, and field; Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history: Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and will) a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: Which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 62 Monologues. Whereof by parcels she had something heard. But not intentively: I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke, That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She 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, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake: She 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 us'd; Here comes the lady, let her witness it. Menenius' Speech to the Citizens. ■ 5— i ■ CARIOLANUS. Act I. — Scene 1. !HAT works, my countrymen, in hand? where 3 go you 2 With bats and clubs'/ The matter? Speak, I pray you. Why, masters, my good friends, my honest neighbours, Will you undo yourselves? I tell you, friends, most charitable care Have the patricians of you. For your wants, Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well Monologues. 63 ►Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them Against the Roman state; whose course will on The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs Of more strong link asunder, than can ever Appear in your impediment: For the dearth, The gods, not the patricians, make it; and Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, You are transported by calamity Thither where more attends you; and you slander The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers, When you curse them as enemies. Either you must Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you A pretty tale; it may be, you have heard it; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To scale 't a little more. There was a time when all the body's members Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: — That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest; where the other instruments Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And, mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answered, — With a kind of smile, Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, (For, look you, I may make the belly smile, As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied To the discontented members, the mutinous parts That envied his receipt; even so most fitly As you malign our senators, for that f>4 Monologues. They are not such as you. I will tell you; If you will bestow a small (of what you have little,) Patience, awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer. Note me this, good friend ; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: "True is it, my incorporate friends," quoth he, "That I receive the general food at first, Which you do live upon: and fit it is; Because I am the store-house, and the shop Of the whole body: But if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood, Even to the court, the heart, — to the seat o' the brain ; And, through the cranks and offices of man, The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live: And though that all at once, You, my good friends," (this says the belly,) mark me, — " Though all at once cannot See what I do deliver out to each; Yet I can make my audit up, that all From me do back receive the flour of all, And leave me but the bran." What say you to 't? The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members: For examine Their counsels, and their cares; digest things rightly, Touching the weal o' the common; you shall find No public benefit which you receive, But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, And no way from yourselves. — What do you think? You, the great toe of this assembly? For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: Thou rascal, thou art worst in blood, to run Monologues. Lead'st first to win some vantage. — But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs; Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; The one side must have bale. — 65 Menepius Mildly Rebuking the Tribunes. CORIOLANUS. Act II. — Scene 1. HIS is strange now. Do you know how you are censured here in the city, — I mean of us o' the right-hand file? do you? that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior surve} r of your good selves! that you could! Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are — I cannot call you Lycurguses — if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say, your worships have de- livered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly, that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that 5 66 Monologues. I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? You know neither me, yourselves, nor anything. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the contro- versy of three-pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mumurers, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing; all the peace you make in their cause, is, call- ing both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall en- counter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud, who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your pre- decessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. More of your con- versation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebians. I will be bold to take my leave of you. Monologues. 67 Timon's Reflections in the Woods. TIMON OF ATHENS. Act IV. — Scene 3. BLESSED breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, — Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature, Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say, "This man's a flatterer?" If one be, So are they all; for every grize of fortune Is smooth'd by that below; the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: All is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! — Earth, yield me roots! Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate [Digging.] With thy most operant poison! — What is here? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this, will make black, white; foul, fair; 68 Monologues. Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads; This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench. This is it, That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. — [March afar off.] Ha! a drum? — Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: — Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold.] [To Alcibiades.] Put up thy gold; Go on, — here's gold, — go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honor'd age for his white beard ; He's a usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest; Herself 's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ; Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince in sans remorce: Swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes; Monologues. 69 Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of men; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him, that his particular to forsee, Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate ruffians bald ; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: Plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. — There's more gold. Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. [Alone. Digging.] That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The guilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, With all abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine: Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root: Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 70 Monologues. Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented! — O, a root, — Dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-horn leas; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Gatharipe's Discourse on the Duties of the Wife. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act V. — Scene 2. ^IE! fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: ~ ^V9 it i t s thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds; And in no sense is meet, or amiable. A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance: commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience; — Too little payment for so great a debt. Monologues. 71 Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such, a woman oweth to her husband : And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And, not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord? — I am asham'd, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world; But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms? My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great: my reason, haply, more, To bandy word for word, and frown for frown: But now, I see our lances are but straws; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — That seeming to be most, which we least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot; And place your hands below your husband's foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. _..t.^eAS/tti iatoMtg an$ J§cetu£. ~ | ^^1IP V|/g V ' *♦," '. \V A^ ; 'I 1 . 1 'I 1 "v" ♦ .t.r .♦. . 't' - 't\- 't' "V* •'♦" ':'Yv-"V"'"r : -"V' 1, - , V" "♦" r, - :!•' ;;' .•;•, .•. >r ^ .'•'. .'>\ • ,< Merchant of Venice. Act I. — Scene 3. Characters: Bassanio, Shylock, and Antonio. Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Shy. For three months, — well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and An- tonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no; — my meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is suffi- cient. Yet his means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, more- over, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, — and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves; I mean pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient, — three thousand ducats; — I think, I may take his bond. 76 Dialogues and Scenes. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you, to dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here? Enter Antonio. Bass. This is Signior Antonio. Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him, for he is a Christian, But more, for that, in low simplicity, He lends out money gratis and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear 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! Bass. Shy lock, do you hear? *S%. I am debating of my present store; And, by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats: What of that? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, Will furnish me. But soft, how many months Do you desire? [To Ant.] Rest you fair, good signior; Your worship was the last man in our mouths. Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, By taking, nor by giving of excess, Dialogues and Scenes. 77 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of ray friend I'll break a custom. — Is be yet possess'd, How mucb you would? Shy. Ay, ay, tbree thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so. Well then, your bond; and, let me see, — But hear you; Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow Upon advantage. Ant. I do never use it. Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, This Jacob from our holy Abraham was As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, The third possessor; ay, he was the third. Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. When Laban and himself were compromis'd, That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied, Should fall as Jacob's hire, The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands And stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. His was a way to thrive, and he was blest; And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; A thing not in his power to bring to pass, But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. Was this inserted to make interest good? Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams? Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast: But note me, signior. Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 78 Dialogues and Scenes. An evil soul, producing holy witness, Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; A goodly apple rotten at the heart; O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 't is a good round sum. Three months from twelve, then, let me see, the rate. — Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my monies, and my usances: Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe: You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help: Go to, then; you come to me, and you say, ''Shylock, we would have monies;" You say so; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over you threshold ; monies is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, "Hath a dog money? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" Or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this, — "Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn 'd me such a day; another time You call'd me — dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much monies." Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends; for when did friendship take Dialogues and Scenes. 79 A breed for barren metal of his friend ? But lend it rather to thine enemy; Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face Exact the penalty. Shy. Why, look you, how you storm? I would be friends with you, and have your love, Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, Supply your present wants, and take no doit Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me: This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. Slty. This kindness will I show: — Go with me to a notary, seal me there Your single bond; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, I'll rather dwell in my necessity. Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it; Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. Shy. father Abraham, what these Christians are; Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this, If he should break his day, what should I gain By the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 80 Dialogues and Scenes. As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say To buy his favour, I extend this friendship: If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; Give him direction for this merry bond, And I will go and purse the ducats straight; See to my house, left in the fearful guard Of an unthrift knave, and presently I will be with you. [Exit Shylock.] Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. Ant. Come on; in this there can be no dismay; My ships come home a month before the day. Merchant of Venice. Act II. — Scene 2. Characters I Launcelot, Old Gobbo, and Bassanio. Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew, my master: The fiend is at mine elbow; and tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away:" My conscience says, — "No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels:" Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; "via!" says the fiend; "away!" says the fiend; "for the heavens; rouse up a brave mind," says the fiend, Dialogues and Scenes. 81 "and run." Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, — "My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son," — or rather an honest woman's son; — for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste; — well, my conscience says, "Launcelot, budge not." "Budge," says the fiend. "Budge not," says my conscience. "Conscience," say I, "you counsel well;" "Fiend," say I, "you counsel well." To be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew, my master, who, God bless the mark! is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Cer- tainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew: The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment, I will run. Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. [Aside.] heavens, this is my true begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not: — I will try confusions with him. Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indi- rectly to the Jew's house. Gob. By God's sonties, it will be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me, whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Mark me now; [Aside.] now will I raise the waters: — Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 6 82 Dialogues and Scenes s Gob. No,, master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelot. Gob. Your whorship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you ; Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot; talk not of master Launce- lot, father; for the young gentleman, (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three and such branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop? — Do you know me, father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father? Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: Give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may, but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure, you are not Launcelot, my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; lam Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my son. Dialogues and Scenes. 83 Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin, my thill- horse, has on his tail. Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows back- ward ; I am sure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him. Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; How 'gree you now ? Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground: my master's a very Jew; Give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish 'd in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one Master Bassa- nio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. — rare fortune! here comes the man. — To him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and other Followers. Bass. You may do so; — but let it be so hasted, that sup- per be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: See these letters deliver'd; put the liveries to making; and desire Gra- tiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant. Laun. To him, father. Gob. God bless your worship! Bass. Gramercy ; Wouldst thou aught with me? Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify, — 84 Dialog-ties and Scenes. Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve — Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify, — Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, hav- ing done me wrong, doth cause mo, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you, — Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is, — Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor man, my father. Bass. One speak for both; — What would you? Laun. Serve you, sir. Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit. Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, To leave a rich Jew's service, to become The follower of so poor a gentleman. Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. Bass. Thou speak'st it well: Go, father with thy sou: — Take leave of thy old master, and enquire My lodging out: — Give him a livery [To his followers.] More guarded than his fellows'; See it done. Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no ; I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well; [Looking on his palm.] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book. — I shall have good fortune; Go to, here's a simple line of life! here's a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine maids, Dialogues and Scenes. 85 is a simple coming-in for one man: and then, to 'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; — here are simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. — Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twin- kling of an eye. Merchant of Venice. A COURT OF JUSTICE. Act IV. — Scene 1. Characters: The Duke, the Magnifieoes; Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio. Duke. What, is Antonio here? Ant. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A strong adversary, an inhuman wretch Uncapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy. Ant. I have heard, Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury; and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his. Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. Sedan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. Enter Shi/lock. Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 86 Dialogues and Scenes. That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act; aud then, 'tis thought, Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : And where thou now exact'st the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, But touch'd with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back; Enow to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd To offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose; And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, To have the due and forfeit of my bond : If you deny it, let the danger light Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that But, say, it is my humour; is it answer'd? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet? Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat; And others, at the bag-pipe; For affection, Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood Of what it likes, or loaths: Now, for your answer: As there is no firm reason to be reuder'd, Dialogues and Scenes. 87 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; Why he, a harmless necessary cat; Why he, a swollen bag-pipe; but of force Must yield to such inevitable shame, As to offend, himself being offended; So can I give no reason, nor I will not, More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice? Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew: You may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid the main flood bate his usual height; You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; You may as well do anything most hard, As seek to soften that, (than which what's harder?) His Jewish heart: — Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no further means, But with all brief and plain conveniency, Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond. Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none? 88 Dialogues and Scenes. Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? You have among you many a purchas'd slave, Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts, Because you bought them: — Shall I say to you, Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates Be season 'd with such viands? You will answer, The slaves are ours: — So do I answer you: The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: If you deny me, fie upon your law. There is no force in the decrees of Venice: I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here to-day. Salar. My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. Duke. Bring us the letters; Call the messenger. Bass. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man? courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me: You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. [Presents a letter. Dialogues and Scenes. 89 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen: but no metal can, No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. Gra. O, be thou damn'd inexorable dog! And for thy life let justice be accus'd. Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, To hold opinion with Pythagoras, That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit, Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud. Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court: — Where is he? Ner. He attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. Duke. With all my heart: — Some three or four of you, Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. [Clerk Reads.] Your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick: but in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome, his name is Balthaser. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the Jew and 90 Dialogues and Scenes. Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er many books together ; he is furnish'd with my opinion; which, better'd with his own learning, (the greatness whereof I cannot enough com- mend,) comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend esti- mation; for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation. Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes: and here, I take it, is the doctor come. Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. Give me your hand: Came you from old Bellario? Por. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylock? Shy. Shylock is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — You stand within his danger, do you not? [To Ant. Ant. Ay, so he says. Por. Do you confess the bond? Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: Dialogues and Scenes. 91 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptr'd sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthy power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart; If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will. Por. It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established ; 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state; it cannot be. 92 Dialogues and Scenes. Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! — wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice. Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart: — Be merciful; Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. — It doth appear you are a worthy judge; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. Por. Why then, thus it is: You must prepare your bosom for his knife: Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! Por. For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge: How much more elder art thou than thy looks! Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast: So says the bond: — Doth it not, noble judge? — Nearest his heart, those are the very words. Dialogues and Scenes. 93 Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh The flesh? Shy. I have them ready. Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? Por. It is not so express'd ; but what of that? Twere good you do so much for charity. Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. Por. Come, merchant, have you anything to say? Ant. But little; I am arm'd, and well prepared. — Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; For herein fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use, To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hallow eye, and wrinkled brow, An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such a misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honourable wife: Tell her the process of Antonio's end, — Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death; And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, And he repents not that he pays your debt; For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, Which is as dear to me as life itself; But life itself, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me esteem'd above thy life: I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you. Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that, If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 94 Dialogues and Scenes. Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, 1 love; I would she were in heaven, so she could Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. Ner. Tis well you offer it behind her back; The wish would make else an unquiet house. Shy. These be the Christian husbands: I have a daughter; 'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas Had been her husband, rather than a Christian. [Aside. We trifle time; I pray thee, pursue sentence. Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: The court awards it, and the law doth give it. Sliy. Most rightful judge! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge! — A sentence; come, prepare! Por. Tarry a little; — There is something else. — This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words express^ are, a pound of flesh: Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice. Gra. upright judge! — Mark, Jew: — O learned judge! Shy. Is that the law? Por. Thyself shall see the act: For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. Gra. learned judge! — Mark, Jew: — a learned judge! Shy. I take this offer then; — pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Bass. Here is the money. Por. Soft! The Jew shall have all justice; — soft! — no haste; — He shall have nothing but the penalty. Dialogues and Scenes. ( 95 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair, — Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra.- A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. SJiy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court; He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel! — I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it. I'll stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew: The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — If it be prov'd against an alien, That by direct or indirect attempts, He seek the life of any citizen, The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, Shall seize one-half his goods; the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state; And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 96 Dialogues and Scenes. In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st: For it appears by manifest proceeding, That, indirectly, and directly too, Thou hast contriv'd against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd The danger formerly by me rehears'd. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. Ora. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself: And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. Por. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio. Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that: You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live. Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? Ora. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, To quit the fine for one half of his goods; I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use, — to render it, Upon his death, unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter: Two things provided more, — That, for this favour, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess VI, Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. Dialogues and Scenes. 97 Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant The pardon, that I late pronounced here. Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? Shy. I am content. Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; I am not well; send the deed after me, And I will sign it. Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. HAMLET. Act I. — Scene 5. Characters: Hamlet and Ghost. Enter Ghost. Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin 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'll call thee, Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane: 0, answer me: Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd 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 glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, 7 98 Dialogues and Scenes. & So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, Til go no further. Ghost. Mark me. Ham. I will. Ghod. My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham. Alas, poor ghost! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What? Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood: — List, list, list! — If thou didst ever thy dear father love, — Ham. heaven! Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Ham. Murder? Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift Dialogues and Scenes. 99 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. Ghost. I find thee apt; — And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus'd : But know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life, Now wears his crown. Ham. 0, my prophetic soul! my uncle! Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, (0 wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming virtuous queen: O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there! From me, whose love was that of dignity, That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage. But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air; Brief let me be: — Sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour 100 Dialogues and Scenes. The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: 0, horrible! 0, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit. Ham. all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell? — fie! — Hold, hold my heart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up! — Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory Dialogues and See nes. 101 s I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. most pernicious woman ! villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! My tables, — meet it is, I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark: [Writing So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me. 1 have sworn't. HAMLET. Act III. — Scene 4. Characters: Hamlet, the Queen, and Ghost. Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? Ham. What's the matter now? Queen. Have you forgot me? Ham. No, by the rood, not so: You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; And, — 'would it were not so! — you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge; 102 Dialogues and Scenes. You go not, till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you. Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! Pol. [Behind.] What, ho! help! Ham. How now! a rat? [Draws. Dead, for a ducat, dead. [Ham. makes a pass through the Arras.] Pol. [Behind.] 0, I am slain. [Falls and dies. Queen. me, what hast thou done? Ham. Nay, I know not: Is it the king? - [Lifts up the Arras, and draws forth Pol. Queen. 0, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed; — almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king, and marry with his brother. Queen.. As kill a king! Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! [To Pol. I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune: Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — Leave wringing your hands: Peace; sit you down, And let me wring your heart; for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so, That it be proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths: 0, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks Dialogues and Scenes. 103 The very soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen. Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man: This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows: Here is your husband; like 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, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment. And what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have, Else, could you not have motion: But, sure, that sense Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err; Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense 104 Dialogues and Scenes. Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire; proclaim no shame, When the compulsive ardour gives the charge; Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will. Queen. Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots, As will not leave their tinct. Ham. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed; Stew'd in corruption; honeying, and making love Over the nasty style; — Queen. 0, speak to me no more; These words, like daggers enter into mine ears; No more, sweet Hamlet. Ham. A murderer and a villain: A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent lord: — a vice of kings: A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket! Queen. No more. Enter Ghost. Ham. A king Of shreds and patches: Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! — What would your gracious figure? Queen. Alas, he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say! Dialogues and Scenes. 105 Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look! amazement on thy mother sits: 0, step between her and her fighting soul ; Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works; Speak to her, Hamlet. Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is't with you? That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Ham. On him! on him! — Look you, how pale he glares! His. form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me; Lest, with this piteous action, you convert My stern effects; then what I have to do Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham, Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! [Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstasy! 106 Dialogues and Scenes. My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music: It is not madness, That I have utter'd; bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue: For in the fatness of these pursy times, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg; Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night: But go not to my uncle's bed; Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this; That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock, or livery, That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night; And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either curb the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night, And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, [Pointing to Polonius. I do repent: But heaven hath pleased it so, — Dialogues and Scenes. 107 To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and answer well The death I gave him. So, again, good night! — I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. Cassius instigating Brutus against Caesar. CAESAR. Act I. — Scene 2. Cass. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And show of love, as I was want to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Brut. Cassius, Be not deceived: If I have veii'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, Of late, with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours: But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd; (Among which number, Cassius, be you one;) Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. Cass. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 108 Dialogues and Scenes. Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell rue, good Brutus, can you see your face? Brut. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. Cass. 'Tis just : And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors, as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, (Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes. Brut. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? Cass. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And, since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them ; or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Shouts heard. Brut. What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. Cass. Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. Brut. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well: — But wherefore do you hold me here so long? Dialogues, and Scenes. 109 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, And I will look on both indifferently: For, let the gods so speed me, as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. Cass. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. — I cannot tell, what you and other men Think of this life: but, for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure 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 with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?" — Upon the word, Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow: So indeed, he did. The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it With lusty sinews; throwing it aside And 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 Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god; and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 110 Dialogues and Scenes. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And, when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake: His coward lips did from their colour fly; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas! it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius," As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. [Shouts heard. Brut. Another general shout! I do believe, that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. Cass. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Collossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus, and Caesar: What should be in that Caesar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. [Shout. Now in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than one man? Dialogues and Scenes. Ill When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. 0! you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once, that would have brook 'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, As easily as a king. Brut. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim; How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further mov'd. What you have said, I will consider; what you have to say, I will with patience hear; and find a time Both meet to hear, and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this; Brutus had rather be a villager, Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. Cass. I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 112 Dialogues and Scenes.. Antony Lamenting' over the Dead Body of Caesar. CAESAR. Act III. — Scene 1. Characters: Antony, Brutus, and Cnssius. Ant. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? — Fare thee well. — I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death's hour; nor no instrument Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purple hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. Brut. Antony! beg not your death of us, Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands, and this our present act, You see we do; yet you see but our hands, And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome, (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, Dialogues and Scenes. 113 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony : Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts, Of brother's temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Cass. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, In the disposing of new dignities. Brut. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. Ant. I doubt not your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : — Next, Cajus Cassius, do I take your hand; — Now, Decius Brutus, yours; — now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; — and, my valiant Casca, yours: — Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all, — alas! what shall 1 say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. — That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better, than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in the spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 114 Dialogues and Scenes. world! thou wast the forest to this hart; And tins, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. — How like a deer, stricken by many princes, Dost thou here lie? Cass. Mark Antony, Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. Cass. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar; Friends I am with you all, and love you all; Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, Why and wherein, Caesar was dangerous. Brut. Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard, That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. Ant. That's all I ask; And am moreover suitor, that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. Brut. You shall, Mark Antony. Cass. Brutus, a word with you. — You know not what you do. Do not consent, [Aside. That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be mov'd, By that which lie will utter? Brut. By your pardon; — T will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: Dialogues and Scenes. 115 What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission : And that we are contented, Caesar shall Have all true rights and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. Cass. I know not what may fall; I like it not. Brut. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar; And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: And you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. Ant. Be it so; I desire no more. Brut. Prepare the body then, and follow us. [Exeunt all but Ant. Ant. 0, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hands that shed this cotly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophecy, — Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue; — A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, Shall cumber all the parts of Italy: Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile, when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 116 Dialogues and Scenes. With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carion men, groaning for burial. "y ~\