Imatges de pÓgina

Yet thanks I must you con,

That you are thieves profest; that you work not
In holier shapes for there is boundless theft
In limited professions.

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.

I'll example you with thievery, The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.

Bankrupts, hold fast;

Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal!
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
And pill by law.



Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;

Thou shalt be whipt with wire, and stew'd in brine,
Smarting in ling'ring pickle.

Hence, begone:-

But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry

In what I further shall intend to do,

By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,

And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs.

If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps;
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

If thou more murmur'st I will rend an oak,
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

You know, that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

Unhand me, gentlemen ;—
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl :
He that stirs next to carve forth his own rage,
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.

Give me to know

How this foul rout began, who set it on;
And he that is approv'd in this offence,

Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
Shall lose me.

her honour,

If they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.

Time hath not yet so dry'd this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.

Priest, beware your beard;

I mean to tug it, and to cuff it soundly :
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
In spite of pope or dignities of church,
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee


and down.

By my soul,

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st


My sword i' th' life-blood of thee else.

I'll note you in my book of memory,
To scourge you for this reprehension;
Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.

Villains, set down the corse: or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I command:
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

All the budding honors on thy crest
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.

Percy is but my factor, good my Lord,
T'engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla-Mortimer!
Nay, I will have a starling taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.



Well, go, muster men.

But, hear you, leave behind Your son, George Stanley; look your heart be firm, Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;

And he that throws not up his cap for joy,

Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

Leave wringing of 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.


Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits:
Wer't not affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company,
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
He did request me, to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age,
In having known no travel in his youth.

I have consider'd well his loss of time;
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd, and tutor❜d in the world :
Experience is by industry atchiev'd,

And perfected by the swift course of time.

As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely
A fit or two o' th' face.


Treason is but trusted like the fox;

Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.

Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear'st a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace


He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk.

I protest,

Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
Despight thy victor-sword, and fire-new fortune,
Thy valour, and thy heart,-thou art a traitor :
False to thy Gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince;
And from th extremest upward of thy head,
To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,
A most toad-spotted traitor.

As a woodcock to my own springe, Osrick; I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.

I tell ye all,

I am your better, traitors as ye are ;-
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

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