This is the ftate of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a froft, a killing froft,
And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely
His greatnefs is a ripening, nips his root;
And then he falls as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that fwim on bladders,
Thefe many fummers in a fea 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 fervice, to the mercy
Of a rude ftream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that fmile we would afpire to,
That sweet afpect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Cardinal WOLSEY's SPEECH to CROMWELL. [SHAKESPEARE.]
ROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miferies; but thou haft forc'd me,.
Out of thy honeft truth, to play the woman-
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I fhall be,
And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me muft more be heard; fay then I taught thee;,
Say, Wolfey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour,.
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in:
A fure and safe one, though thy mafter mifs'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me:
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:
By that fin fell the angels; how can man then
"(The image of his maker) hope to win by't?
Love thyself laft: cherifh thofe hearts, that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honefty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not.
Let all the ends, thou aim'ft at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell, Thou fall'ft a bleffed martyr.
NEWS-TELLERS on the DEATH of ARTHUR. [SHAKESPEARE.]
LD men and beldams, in the ftreets,
Do prophefy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;
And, when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper, one another in the ear.
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrift,
Whilft he that hears makes fearful action.
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes,
I faw a fmith ftand with his hammer, thus,
The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth fwallowing a taylor's news,
Who, with his fhears and measure in his hand,
Standing on flippers, which his nimble hafte
Had falfely thrust upon contrary feet,
Told of a many thousand warlike French,.
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent.
Another lean, unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
WHAT is ig that you, would impart to me?
If it be aught towards the general good,
Set honour in one eye, and death i' th' other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For let the Gods fo fpeed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
CASSIUS in Contempt of CESAR.
[SHAKESPEARE.]
W Like a Coloffus; and we petty men
HY man, he doth beftride the narrow world,
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves difhonourable graves.
Men at fometimes are mafters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars
M6
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Cæfar! what should be in that Cæfar?
Why fhould that name be founded more than yours?
Write them together; yours is as fair a name :
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a fpirit as foon as Cæfar.
Now in the names of all the Gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæfar feed,
That he is grown fo great? Age, thou art fham'd;
Rome, thou haft loft the breed of noble bloods.
When went there by an age, fince the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they fay, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man.
AMBITION, covered with fpecious HUMILITY. [SHAKESPEARE.]
UT 'tis a common proof,
That lowlinefs is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upwards turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmoft round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, fcorning the bafe degrees.
By which he did afcend.
Against the FEAR of DEATH.
[SHAKESPEARE.]
YOWARDS die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never tafte of death but once:
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me moft ftrange, that men fhould fear:
Seeing that death, a neceflary end,
Will come, when it will come.
ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION upon CÆSAR. [SHAKESPEARE.]
TRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cæfar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do, lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæfar! noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæfar was ambitious;
If it were fo, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæfar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honourable man:
So are they all, all honourable men.)
Come I to speak in Cæfar's funeral."
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus fays, he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whofe ranfoms did the general coffers fill;
Did this in Cæfar feem ambitious;
When that the poor hath cry'd, Cæfar hath wept ;
Ambition fhould be made of fterner stuff.
Yet Brutus fays, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did fee, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice prefented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus fays, he was ambitious,
And, fure he is an honourable man.
I fpeak not to difprove what Brutus fpoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without caufe;
What caufe with-holds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beafts,
And men have loft their reason..
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæfar,
And I must paufe 'till it come back to me.
BRUTUS to CASSIUS.
[SHAKESPEARE.]
HERE is no terror, Caffius, in your threats;
For an arm'd fo ftrong in honefty,
That they pafs by me, as the idle wind,
Which I refpect not. I did fend to you.
For certain fums of gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raife no money by vile means.
By heaven I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did fend
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you deny'd me: was that done like Caffius?
Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius fo?
When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,
To lock fuch rafcal counters from his friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,.
Dash him to pieces!
OPPORTUNITY to be feized in all AFFAIRS. [SHAKEESPEARE.]
HERE is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in fhallows, and in miferies.
On fuch a full fea are we now afloat:
And we must take the current when it ferves,
Or lofe our ventures.
ANTONY'S CHARACTER of BRUTUS..
[SHAKESPEARE.]
HIS was the nobleft Roman of them all:
All the confpirators, fave only he,
Did, that they did, in envy of great Cæfar:
He, only, in a general honeft thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the elements,
So mixt in him, that nature might ftand up,
And fay to all the world; This was a man !”
LEAR's paffionate Exclamations amidst the TEMPEST [SHAKESPEARE.]
LOW winds, and crack your cheeks; .rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, fpout
Till you have drencht our fteeples, drown'd the cocks!*
You fulph'rous, and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all fhaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world;
Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once
That make ingrateful man.
Rumble thy belly-full, fpit fire, fpout rain;
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