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And looking on it with lack-luftre eye,

Says very wifely, It is ten o'clock:

Thus may we fee, quoth he, how the world wags:
"Tis but an hour ago fince it was nine,

And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ;
And fo from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools fhould be fo deep contemplative;
And I did laugh, fans intermiffion,
An hour by his dial. O noble fool,

A worthy fool! motley's the only wear.

DUKE. What fool is this?

JAQ O worthy fool! one that hath been a courtier,

And fays, if ladies be but young and fair,

They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,

Which is as dry as the remainder-bisket

After a voyage, he hath ftrange places cramm'd
With obfervations, the which he vents,

In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat,

DUKE, Thou shalt have one.

JAQ. It is my only fuit;

Provided that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion, that grows rank in them,
That I am wife. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for fo fools have,
And they that are moft galled with my folly

They moft muft laugh. And why, Sir, muft they fo?

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The way is plain, as way to parish-church;
He whom a fool does very wifely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he fmart,
Not to feem fenfelefs of the bob. If not,
The wife man's folly is anatomiz'd

Even by the fquand'ring glances of a fool.
Inveft me in my motley, give me leave

To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanfe the foul body of th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my, medicine.

DUKE. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou would't do.
JAQ. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
DUKE. Moft mifchievous foul fin, in chiding fin,

For thou thyfelf haft been a libertine,

And all th' emboffed fores and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot haft caught,
Wouldst thou difgorge into the general world.
JAQ. Why, who cries out on pride,

That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the fea,

Till that the very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I fay, the city-woman bears

The cost of princes on unworthy fhoulders?
Who can come in, and fay, that I mean her;
When fuch a one as fhe, fuch is her neighbour?

Or what is he of baseft function,

That fays his bravery is not on my coft;

Thinking, that I mean him, but therein fuits

His folly to the metal of my fpeech?

There then; how then? what then? let me fee wherein My tongue has wrong'd him; if it do him right,


Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why, then my taxing, like a wild goofe, flies

Unclaim'd of any man,





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AM affur'd, if I be meafur'd rightly,

Your Majefty hath no just cause to hate me, P. HENRY. No! might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me?

What! rate, rebuke, and roughly fend to prifon

Th' immediate heir of England! was this eafy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten?

CH. JUST. I then did ufe the perfon of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me:
And in th' adminiftration of his law,
While I was bufy for the commonwealth,
Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
The majesty and pow'r of law and justice,
The image of the King whom I prefented;
And ftruck me in my very feat of judgment:
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority,

And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a fon fet your decrees at naught:
To pluck down juftice from your awful bench,
To trip the course of law, and blunt the fword
That guards the peace and fafety of your perfon:
Nay more, to fpurn at your moft royal image,


And mock your working in a second body.

Question your royal thoughts, make the case your's;
Be now the father, and propose a son;

Hear your own dignity fo much profan'd;
See your most dreadful laws fo loosely flighted;
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;

And then imagine me taking your part,

And in your pow'r fo filencing your fon.
After this cold confid'rance, sentence me;

And, and as you are a King, fpeak in your state,
What I have done that misbecame my place,

My perfon, or my Liege's fovereignty.

P. HENRY. You are right, Juftice, and you weigh this well; Therefore ftill bear the balance and the fword;

And I do wish your honours may increase,

Till you do live to fee a fon of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did;
So fhall I live to speak my father's words;
Happy am I, that have a man fo bold


That dares do juftice on my proper
And no lefs happy, having fuch a fon,
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hand of juftice.

You committed me;

For which I do commit into your hand

Th' unftained fword that you have us'd to bear;
With this remembrance, that you use the fame

With a like bold, juft, and impartial fpirit,

As you have done 'gainst me.

There is my hand,

You shall be as a father to my youth:

My voice fhall found as you do prompt mine ear;

And I will stoop and humble my intents,

To your well practis'd wife directions,


And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you;'
My father is gone wild into his grave;
For in his tomb lie my affections;
And with his fpirit fadly I furvive,
To mock the expectations of the world;
To fruftrate prophecies, and to raze out
Rotten opinion, which hath writ me down
After my feeming. Though my tide of blood
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now;
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, *
Where it fhall mingle with the ftate of floods,
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of Parliament;
And let us chufe fuch limbs of noble counsel,
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
That war or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us,
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
Our coronation done, we will accite

(As I before remember'd) all our fate,
And (Heav'n configning to my good intents)
No prince, nor peer, fhall have just cause to say,
Heav'n fhorten Harry's happy life one day.






Y Lord, I'll tell you; that felf bill is urg'd,
Which, in th' eleventh year o' th' laft King's




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