Henry V. to his Soldiers.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with the English dead!

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows up 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!

;

Now, set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide
Hold hard the breath; and bend up every spirit
To its full height. Now, on, you noblest English!
Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument !
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot!
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,
Cry, God for Harry, England, and St. George!
Shakspeare.

Marcellus's Speech to the Mob.

Wherefore, rejoice? that Cæsar comes in triumph! What conquest bring he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

you

up

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks! you stones! you worse than senseless things!
Oh you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome !
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft,
Have climb'd to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome !
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made a universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath his banks

To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores!

And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now cull out a holyday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Begone!

Run to your houses! fall upon your knees!
Pray to the gods to intermit the plagues,
That needs must light on this ingratitude!

Shakspeare.

Henry Vth's Speech before the Battle of Agincourt. What's he that wishes for more men from England? My cousin Westmoreland !-No, my fair cousin : If we are mark'd to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and, if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
No, no, my lord, wish not a man from England!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host,
That he who hath no stomach to this fight,
May straight depart: his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company!
This day is call'd the Feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian !
He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
Will, yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbours:
And say-To-morrow is Saint Crispian !

Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
Old men forget, yet shall not all forget,

But they'll remember with advantages

What feats they 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 Glos'ter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd ;
This story shall the goodman teach his son:
And Crispian's day shall ne'er go by,
From this time to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember'd;

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 e'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day!

Douglas's Account of Himself.

Shakspeare.

My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home:
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord;
And heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon, which rose last night round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety, and for succour. I alone,

With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.

We fought and conquer'd! Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,

I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps-
Yon trembling coward who forsook his master.

Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do

The happy deed, that gilds my humble name. Home.

1

Rollo to the Peruvians.

My brave associates!-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame! Can Rollo's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts?—No;— you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. -Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours.-They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule ;—we, for our country, our altars, and our homes.-They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate ;-we serve a monarch whom we love, -a God whom we adore.-Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress !-Where'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. -They boast, they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error!-Yes-they-they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride!-They offer us their protectionYes, such protection as vultures give to lambs-covering and devouring them !-They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour is the people's choice-the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy-the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave.-Tell your invaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change; and least of all, such change as they would bring us. Sheridan's Pizarro.

Cato's Soliloquy.

It must be so- -Plato, thou reason'st well!
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after Immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?.
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us:

'Tis Heaven itself, that points out—an hereafter,
And intimates-Eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful

thought!

Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us-
And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works-He must delight in virtue ;
And that which He delights in, must be happy.
But when? or where? This world-was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.]
Thus I am doubly arm'd. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die!
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.-
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds!

Addison.

Brutus on the Death of Cæsar.

Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers !-hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge.

-If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that Brutus's love to Cæsar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand