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Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctly. I did consent:
And often did beguile her other 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 wond'rous 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 i
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. On this hint I spake;
She lov'd me for tha dangers I had passed;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.— .
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.
IX.—Henry IV's Soliloquy on Sleep.
HOW many thousands of my poorest subjects
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
X.—Captain BobadiVs Method of defeating an Army. I WILL tell you, Sir, by the way of private and under seal, I am a gentleman; and live here obscure, and to myself: but were I known to his Majesty and the Lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives of his subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, three-fourths of his yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy soeyer. And how would I do it, think you.? Why thus, Sir.—I would select nineteen more to myself, throughout the land; gentlemen they should be; of good spirit, strong and able constitution. I would choose them by an instinct that I have—And I would teach these nineteen the special rules; as your punto, your reverso, your stoccatn, your imbrocata, your passada, your monton-, to, till they could all play very near, or altogether, as.well as myself. This done; say the enemy were forty thousand strong. We twenty would come into the field the tenth of March, or thereabouts, and we would challenge twenty of the enemy; they could not, in their honour refuse us. Well—we would kill them; challenge twenty more—kill them; twenty more—kill them; twenty more—kill them too. And thus, would we kill, every man, his ten a day— that's tenscore: Tenscore—that's two hundred; two hundred a day—five days, a thousand: Forty thousand—forty times five—five times forty—two hundred days kill them all up by computation. And this I will venture my poor gentleman-like carcass to perform, (provided there be no treason practised upon us) by fair and discreet manhood; that is, civilly—by the sword.
XI.—Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle, on the Murder of his
OH! my offence is rank; it smells to heaven;
A brdther's murder! Pray I cannot, .'
Though inclination be as sharp as'twill— i"'
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
Or pafdon'd, being down ?—Then I'll look up.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice:
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the laws. But 'tis not so above.
There is no shuffling—there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd
E'en to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh, wretched state! Oh, bosom black as death!
Oh, limited soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! 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.
XII.—Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death.
TO be—or not to be—that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The stings 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-ach, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to.—'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die—to sleepTo 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 could bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love—the law's delay— 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 groan and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, (That 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 docs 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 away, And lose the name of action.
XIIL—Falstaff"'s Encomium on Sack.
A GOOD sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain: dries me there, all the foolish, dull and crudy vapours which environ it: makes it apprehensive, quick, inventive: full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered over to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes 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 illuminateth 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 awork; 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 drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris. If I' had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be—to forswear thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack.
XIV.—Prologue to the Tragedy of Cato.
TO wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws,
Britons attend. Be worth like this approv'd;
XV.—Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the So
IT must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!—
[Laying his hand on his ttcord.