Nay,

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak

Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,

To keep his anger still in motion.
All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bo-
lingbroke:

And that same sword-and-buckler
Prince of Wales, -

But that I think his father loves him not,

And would be glad he met with some mischance,

I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale.

Why, look you, I am whipped and Scourged with rods,

Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear

Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time, - What do you call the place?

A plague upon't! it is in Gloucestershire;

'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept;

His uncle York; - where I first bowed my knee

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,

When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!

when his infant fortune came to age,

Look,

And,

gentle Harry Percy, — and kind cousin,

The devil take such cozeners!
Heaven forgive me!—

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have

done.

SHAKSPEARE: King Henry IV.

Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit,

Ruling in large and ample empery, O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms,

Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them:

Either our history shall, with full mouth,

Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave,

Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,

Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.

Enter AMBASSADORS OF FRANCE. Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure

Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear

Your greeting is from him, not from

the king.

[And as the Dauphin sends us tennis-balls,]

We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us:

His present, and your pains, we thank you for:

When we have matched our rackets to these balls,

We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set,

Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard:

Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler,

That all the courts of France will be disturbed

With chaces. And we understand him well,

How he comes o'er us with our wild

Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness,

When I do rouse me in my throne of France:

For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for workingdays;

But I will rise there with so full a glory,

That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,

Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.

And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his

Hath turned his balls to gun-stones; and his soul

Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands:

Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;

And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,

That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.

But this lies all within the will of God,

To whom I do appeal; and in whose

If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

God's will! I pray thee, wish not

one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not, if men my gar

ments wear:

Such outer things dwell not in my desires:

But, if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man
from England:

God's peace! I would not lose so
great an honor,
As one man more, methinks, would
share from me,

For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more:

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,

That he who hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his

purse:

We would not die in that man's company,

That fears his fellowship to die with

us.

This day is called-the feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand on tip-toe when this day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian:

say -To-morrow Crispian:

is Saint

Then will he strip his sleeves, and show his scars,

And say, these wounds I had on Crispian's day.

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with advan

tages,

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 remembered:

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 brothers;

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 abed,

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And

hold their manhood cheap, while any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. SHAKSPEARE.

KING RICHARD'S SOLILOQUY.

Richard III. -Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York;

And all the clouds, that lowered upon our house,

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

saries,

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 stamped, and want love's majesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph,

I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deformed, unfinished, 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

WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage and full of grief.
"Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

Rome shall perish: write that word In the blood that she has spilt, Perish, hopeless and abhorred,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renowned,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground: Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew

Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they."

Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow: Rushed to battle, fought, and died; Dying, hurled them at the foe.

Ruffians! pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you. COWPER.

BONDUCA.

[Bonduca the British queen, taking occasion from a defeat of the Romans to impeach their valor, is rebuked by Caratac.]

QUEEN BONDUCA, I do not grieve your fortune.

If I grieve, 'tis at the bearing of your fortunes;

You put too much wind to your sail : discretion

And hardy valor are the twins of honor,

And nursed together, make a conqueror;

Divided, but a talker. 'Tis a truth, That Rome has fled before us twice, and routed;

-

A truth we ought to crown the gods for, lady,

And not our tongues.

You call the Romans fearful, fleeing Romans,

And Roman girls:

Does this become a doer? are they such?

Where is your conquest then? Why are your altars crowned with wreaths of flowers,

The beast with gilt horns waiting for the fire?

The holy Druidés composing songs
Of everlasting life to Victory?
Why are these triumphs, lady? for
a May-game?

For hunting a poor herd of wretched
Romans?

Is it no more? shut up your temples,

Britons,

And let the husbandman redeem his

heifers;

Put out our holy fires; no timbrel

ring;

Let's home and sleep; for such great overthrows

A candle burns too bright a sacrifice; A glow-worm's tail too full a flame. You say, I doat upon these Romans;

Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given:

I love an enemy, I was born a soldier;

And he that in the head of 's troop defies me,

Rending my manly body with his sword,

I make a mistress. Yellow-tressèd Hymen

Ne'er tied a longing virgin with more joy,

Than I am married to that man that wounds me:

And are not all these Roman ? Ten struck battles

I sucked these honored scars from, and all Roman.

Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,

When many a frozen storm sung through my cuirass,

And made it doubtful whether that or I

Were the more stubborn metal, have I wrought through,

And all to try these Romans. Ten times a night

I have swum the rivers, when the stars of Rome

Shot at me as I floated, and the billows

Tumbled their watery ruins on my shoulders,

Charging my battered sides with

troops of agues,

And still to try these Romans; whom I found

As ready, and as full of that I brought,

(Which was not fear nor flight,) as

valiant,

As vigilant, as wise, to do and