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prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend Clytus.-Id.

Gover. Nay, that's right: but why wear your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past.

Fluellen. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, Captain Gower; the rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, pragging knave, Pistol,which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, -he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions with him ; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. (Enter Pistol.)

Fluellen. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkeycocks.—Pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy, lowsy knave, pless you ! Pistol. Ha! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Fluellen. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

Pistol. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.

Fluellen. There is one goat for you. (Strikes him.) Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ?

Pistol. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Fluellen. You say very true, scald knave: I will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. (Striking him again.) You called me yesterday “ mountain-squire ;” but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gower. Enough, captain ; you have astonished him.

Fluellen. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days :- Pite, I pray you: It is good for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb.

Pistol. Must I bite ?

Fluellen. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of questions too and ambiguities.-Act 5. Sc. 1.

Sir William Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth.—Act 4. Sc. 3.

KING HENRY VI.- PART II. Duke of Suffolk. Smooth runs the water where the brook is

deep.- Act 3. Sc. 1. King Henry. What stronger breastplate than a heart un

tainted ?
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just:
And he but naked (though lock'd up in steel),
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. —Sc. 2.

KING HENRY VI.-PART III. Richard (afterwards Duke of Gloster). To weep, is to make

less the depth of grief.--Act 2. Sc. 1. Lord Clifford. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden

on; And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.—Sc. 2.

Duke of Gloster. Suspicion always baunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.-Act 5. Sc. 6.

Gloster. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds, that lour'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ;
Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now- instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I,—that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd and want love's majesty,
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform’d, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ;-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Hare no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity;
And therefore,-since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days,-
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if King Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence comes.-

Act l, Sc, 1.
Sir Robert Brakenbury. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing

Makes the night morning, and the noontide night, Sc. 4.

King Richard. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse !
Catesby. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse.

King Richard. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die:
I think, there be six Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him :-
A horse! a horse ! my kiugdom for a horse !-Act 5, Sc. 4.

Duke of Norfolk. ... ancestry (whose grace
Chalks successors their way.)--Act 1, Sc. 1.

Norfolk. ...

Be advis'd;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-running. Know you not,
The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er,
In seeming to augment it, wastes it ?-Id.

Wolsey. ... We must not stint
Our necessary actions, in the fear
To cope malicious censurers.-Sc. 2.
Buckingham. Where you are liberal of your loves and

counsels, Be sure you be not loose.—Act 2, Sc. 1.

Norfolk. He dives into the king's soul; and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
Fears and despairs, and all these for his marriage :
And out of all these to restore the king,
He counsels a divorce; a loss of her,
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king.–Sc. 2.
Anne Bullen. ...

I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistening grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.Sc. 3.

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness !
This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him :
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever bide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;

I feel my heart new open'd: 0! how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours !
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have.-Act 3, Sc. 2.

Cromwell. How does your grace ?

Wolsey. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour :
0! 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.-Id.

Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,-
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ;
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his maker, hope to win by't ?
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty;
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues-Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall’st, O! Cromwell,
Thou fallest a blessed martyr. Serve the king;
And, -pr’ythee lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny: 'tis the king's : my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is ail
I dare now call my own. O! Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but sery'd my God with half the zeal

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