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THE CHOLERIC PRINCE.

CLOTEN TWO LORDS.

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the Jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on't: And then a jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.

1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.

2. Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have ran all out.

(Aside.) Col. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths; Ha?

2 Lord. No, my lord; nor (Aside.) crop the ears of them. Clo. Dog! I give him satisfaction? 'Would, he had been

one of my rank :

2 Lord. To have smelled like a fool.

(Aside.)

Clo. I am not more vexed at any thing in the earth, — A pox on 't! I had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my mother: every jackslave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.

2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. (Aside.)

Clo. Sayest thou?

1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offense to.

Clo. No, I know that: but it is fit, I should commit offense to my inferiors.

2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

Clo. Why, so I say,

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that's come to court to

night?

Col. A stranger! and I know not on 't!

2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.

(Aside.) 1 Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 't is thought one of Leonatus' friends.

Clo. Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he 's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages.

Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no deroga tion in 't ?

1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord.

Clo. Not easily, I think.

2 Lord. You are a fool granted; therefore your issues being foolish, do not derogate.

(Aside.) Col. Come, I'll go see this Italian: What I have lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

SHAKSPEARE.

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2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ?

1 Murd. No; he'll say, 't was done cowardly, when he wakes.

2 Murd. When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great judgment day.

1 Murd. Why, then he 'll say, we stabbed him sleeping.

2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1 Murd. What? art thou afraid?

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend

me.

1 Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute.

2 Murd. So I am, to let him live.

1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so.

2 Murd. Nay, I pr'y thee, stay a little: I hope, this holy humor of mine will change; it was wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty.

1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed 's done.

2 Murd. Come, he dies; I had forgot the reward.

1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now?

2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse.

1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us our reward. Shy conscience flies out.

2. Murd. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, or none, will entertain it.

1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again?

2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing, t makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accnseth

him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbor's wife, but it detects him: 'Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold, that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means to live well, endeavors to trust himself, and live without it.

1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh.

1 Murd. I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me.

2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt, in the next

room.

2 Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop of him.

1 Murd. Soft! he wakes.

2 Murd. Strike.

1 Murd. No, we 'll reason with him.

SHAKSPEARE

THE GRIEF OF MACDUFF

MALCOLM - MACDUFF - ROSSE.

Macd. See, who comes here?

Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove
The means that make us strangers!

Rosse. Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse. Alas, poor country;

Almost afraid to know itself!

It cannot

Be called our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air
Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy; the dead men's knell

Is there scarce asked, for who; and good men's lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps,

Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd. O, relation,

Too nice, and yet too true!

Mal. What is the newest grief?

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;

Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife?

Rosse. Why, wel.

Macd. And all my children?

Rosse. Well, too.

Macd. The tyrant has not battered at their peace?

Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,

Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor

Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witnessed the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot:
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal. Be it their comfort,

We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none

That Christendon gives out.

Rosse. Would I could answer

This comfort with the like!

But I have words,

That would be howled out in the desert air,

Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a free-grief,
Due to some single breast?

Rosse. No mind, that 's honest,

But in it shares some woe; though the main part

Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me; quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound

That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Humph! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes Savagely slaughtered: to relate the manner,

Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful heaven!

What! man, ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children, too?

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence !

My wife killed too!

Rosse. I have said.

Mal. Be comforted:

Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.

-

All my pretty ones?

Did you say, all? - O, hell-kite! - All?

What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so;

But I must also feel it as a man:

Did heaven look on, Sinful Macduff, naught that I am,

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.
And would not take their part?
They were all struck for thee!
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls:

Heaven rest them now

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Mal. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing, but our leave; Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments.
The night is long, that never finds the day.

Receive what cheer you may;

SHAKSPEARE

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