Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends :-Subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king ?

HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.

a

Henry IV. Part I. My liege, I did deny no prisoners ; But I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dressed, Fresh, as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped, Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; He was perfumèd like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose,

and took 't away again; Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff: and still he smiled and talked ; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He questioned me; among the rest, demanded My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, To be so pestered with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience Answered neglectingly I know not what;

He should, or he should not ;– for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark !)
And telling me, the sovereignest thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answered indirectly, as I said ;
And, I beseech you, let not this report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

HOTSPUR READING A LETTER.

Henry IV. Part I.

“But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.” — He could be contented, -why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house :- he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. “ The purpose you undertake is dangerous ;"— Why that's certain ; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. “The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an

opposition."-Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! I protest, our plot is as good a plot as ever was laid ; our friends true and constant : a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself ? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides, the Douglas ? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month ? and are they not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this ! an infidel! Ha ! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! Let him tell the king : We are prepared : I will set forward to-night.

HENRY THE FOURTH'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.

Henry IV. Part II.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, 0 gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lulled 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 deafening 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.

HENRY THE FIFTH TO HIS TROOPS BEFORE

HARFLEUR.

Henry V. 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,

I Loud noise.

3

Then imitate the action of the tiger ;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured 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’erhang and jutty his confounded? base,
Swilled 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 nobless English,
Whose blood is fet * from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest
That those whom you called 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
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,
Cry-God for Harry! England ! and Saint George !

: