His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd:

Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth;

But, being moody, give him line and

scope;

Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,

Confound themselves with working.

FORTUNE.

WILL Fortune never come with both hands full,

But write her fair words still in foulest letters ?

She either gives a stomach, and no food,

Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast,

And takes away the stomach,-such are the rich,

That have abundance, and enjoy it not.

Were thine without offence; and, at my death,

Thou hast seal'd up my expectation :
Thy life did manifest thou lov❜dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy
thoughts;

Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,

To stab at half an hour of my life. What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?

Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;

And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.

Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse

Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head: Only compound me with forgotten dust; Give that, which gave thee life, unto the

worms.

Pluck down my officers, break my de

crees:

Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. Prince Henry. I never thought to hear you speak again.

King Henry. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours

Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!

Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.

Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind, That it will quickly drop: my day is diin. Thou hast stolen that, which, after some

few hours,

Now, neighbour confines, purge you of

When that my care could not withhold thy riots,

What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care?

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,

Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd
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'er-
whelm it,

As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd 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 noble English,

Whose blood is fet from fathers of warproof!

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,

And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.

Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth
limp

So tediously away. The poor condemned
English,

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture
sad,

Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold

The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,

Let him cry-Praise and glory on his

head!

For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile;

And calls them-brothers, friends, and countrymen.

Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army hath enrounded

him;

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night: But freshly looks, and overbears attaint,

ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF KING
HENRY V.

HEAR him but reason in divinity,
And, all admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire the king were made a
prelate :

Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say,-it hath been all-in-all his study;

List his discourse of war, and you shall hear

A fearful battle render'd in music : you Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,

The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,

To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences.

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

HE that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, And say-To-morrow is saint Crispian : Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,

And say, These wounds I had on Crispin's day.

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day; then shall

our names,

Familiar in their mouths as household words,

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

This story shall the good man teach his

son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered,-
We few, we happy few, we band of bro-
thers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with

me,

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition :
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were
not here;

And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

King Henry VI. WHAT stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?

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.

THE KING'S ENVY OF A SHEP.
HERD'S LIFE.

O GOD! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by
point,

Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the
times:

So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

*

My parks, my walks, my manors that Even now forsake me; and of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body's length ! Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?

And, live we how we can, yet die we

I would invent as bitter-searching terms, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words:

Mine eyes shall sparkle like the beaten flint;

My hair be fixed on end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:

And even now my burden'd heart would break,

Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!

Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped 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, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

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,

Have 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.

QUEEN MARGARET'S EXECRATIONS ON GLOSTER. THE worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul !

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,

And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,

Unless it be while some tormenting dream

Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils; Thou elvish-mark'd abortive, rooting hog!

THE MURDER OF THE YOUNG PRINCES IN THE TOWER. THE tyrannous and bloody act is done, The most arch deed of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of