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And nothing can we call our own but death :
have but mistook me all this while. I live on bread like
feel want like Taste grief, need friends, like you subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a King ?
SHAKESPEARE. CHA P. X I V.
Hotspur and Glendower, Glen S., cousin Percy ; sit , good cousin Hots
pur ; For by that name, as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale! and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heav'n.
Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glen. I blame him not : at my nativity The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets ; know that at my birth
Hot. So it would have done
born. Hot. I say, the earth then was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. Glen. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth
did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heav'ns
And not in fear of your nativity.
Glen. Cousin , of niany men
Or hold me pace in deep experiments.
in the English court : Where , being young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well. And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my
heart; I'd rather be a kitten , and cry mew; Than one of these same metre ballad mongers ! I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree , And that would nothing set my teeth on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. Glen.
And I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man : But will they come when you do call for them? Glen. Why, I can teach thee to command the
devil. Hot. And I can teach thee , coz, to shame the
devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil..-. If thou hast pow'r to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn I've pow'r to shame him hence. Oh, while you live, Tell truth and shame the devil
CHA P. X V. Hotspur reading a letter. Bur for mine own part, my Lord, I « could be well contented to be there in res
pect of the love I bear your house." He could be coniended to be there ; 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 is certain : it is 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 safely. “The purpose you To undertake is dangerous, the friends you have " named uncertain , the time itself unsorted, " and your whole plot too light for the counter“ poise of so great an opposition.” Say you so ! say you so ! I say imto you again , you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this ! By the Lord, our plot is a good 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 this is ? 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 , could brain him with his Lady's fan. Are there not my faher, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides the Lord Douglas ? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month? and are there 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.
CH A P. X V I.
Henry IV's Soliloquy on Sleep. How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ! Why rather, Sleep, lay'st thou in smoaky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 'Than in the perfum' chacubers of the Great, Under the canopies of costly state , And lulld with sounds of sweetest melody ? O thou dull God, why lay'st thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch A watch-case to a common taurum-beil ? Wilt thou , upon the high and giddy mast , Seal up the spip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains, In cradle of the rude imperious snrge ; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf oing clamours in the slipp'ry, shrouds, 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 stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot,