He hath brought many captives home to Rome, When that the poor have cried, Cæfar hath wept : Which he did thrice refufe: was this ambition? I fpeak not to difprove what Brutus spoke ; Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, Let but the commons hear this testament,. Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Unto their iffue. If you have tears, prepare to fhed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The The first time ever Cæfar put it on ; Look! in this place ran Caffius' dagger through- Quite vanquifh'd him: then burft his mighty heart; Even at the base of Pompey's ftatue (Which all the white ran blood)-great Cæfar fell. They that have done this deed are honourable: 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, -- Show you fweet Cafar's wounds, poor, poor dimb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But, were Brutus, Would And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony. Would ruffle up your fpirits, and put a tongue XXIII. Falstaff's Defcription of his Soldiers. IF I be not afham'd of my foldiers, I am a fowced gurnet. I have mifus'd the King's prefs damnably. I have got in exchange of an hundred and fifty foldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I prefs me none but good householders, yeomen's fons; inquire me out còntracted bachelors, fuch as have been afked twice on the banns; fuch a commodity of warm flaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; fuch as fear the report of a culverin, worse than a ftruck deer or a hurt wild-duck. I prefs me none but fuck toafts in butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads; and they bought out their services: and now my whole charge confists of flaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his fores; difcarded unjuft fervingmen, younger fons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and oftlers trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace; and fuch have I to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that? you would think. I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from fwine-keeping, from eating. draff and hufks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and prefs'd the dead bodies. No eye hath feen fuch fcare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and, the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a flirt and a half in all my company, and the half-fhirt is two napkins tacked together, and thrown over the fhoulders like a herald's coat without fleeves; and the fhirt, to say the truth, stolen from my hoft of St Albans, or the red-nofed inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linen enough. on every hedge, XXIV. Falstaff's Soliloquy on Honour. WE Heaven a death!-'Tis not due yet; and I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be be fo forward with him that calls not on me?-Well, 'tis no matter honour pricks ine on. But how if honour по. prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour fet to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in furgery then? What is honour? a word. What is that word honour air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it?, he that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it no. Is it infenfible then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why detraction will not fuffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honour is a mere 'fcutcheon-and fo ends my catechifm. XXV. Part of Richard IIId's foliloquy the Night preceding the Battle of Bofworth. IS now the dead of night, and half the world Yet 1 (fo coy a dame is fleep to me) With all the weary courtship of My care-tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed, Though ev'n the stars do wink, as 'twere, with over watching. I'll forth and walk a while. The air's refreshing, And the ripe harveft of the new-mown hay Gives it a sweet and wholefome odour. How awful is this gloom camp and hark! from camp to. The hum of either army ftilly founds, That the fix'd centinels almoft receive The fecret whispers of each other's watch: Steed threatens fteed in high and boaftful neighings, Piercing the night's dull ear.-Hark! from the tents, The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With clink of hammers clofing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation; while fome,. With patience fit, and inly ruminate The morning's danger. By yon Heav'n, my ftern XXVI. TH XXVI. The World compared to a Stage. ALL the world's a stage; And all the men and women, merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man, in his time, plays many parts, His acts being feven ages. At first, the Infant; Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.—— And, then, the whining School-boy; with his fatchel And fhining morning-face, creeping, like fnail, Unwillingly to fchool-And, then, the Lover; Sighing like furnace; with a woeful ballad Made to his mistrefs' eye-brow.-Then, a Soldier ; - Even in the cannon's mouth.-And, then, the Justice; And fo he plays his part. The fixth age shifts With fpectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide; APPENDIX |