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Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither,
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 't is true, that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurped our right?
The midwife wondered; and the women cried
"O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!"
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.

I have no brother, I am like no brother:

And this word-love, which graybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,

And not in me; I am myself alone.

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Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies,

That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the prince, his son, are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest :
Counting myself but bad, till I be best. -
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

SHAKSPEARE.

RICHARD III, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF BOSWORTH.

'Tis now the dead of night, and half the world

Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung;

Yet I, (so coy a dame is sleep to me,)

With all the weary courtship of

My care-tired thoughts, can't win her to my bed,

Though e'en the stars do wink, as 't were with over watching

I'll forth and walk a while. The air 's refreshing,

And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay

Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor.

How awful is this gloom! And hark! from camp to camp The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each others' watch:
Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neighings,
Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark! from the tents
The armorers, accomplishing the knights,
With clink of hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation; while some,
Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch,
With patience sit, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger. By yon Heaven, my stern
Impatience chides this tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tediously away. I'll to my couch,
And once more try to sleep her into morning.

SHAKSPEARE

THE GUILTY CONSCIENCE.

GIVE me another horse, - bind up my wounds!—
Have mercy, Jesu!- Soft; I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No; - yes; I am:
Then fly,
what, from myself? Great reason: why?
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?
I love myself. Wherefore? for any good,
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh no alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain: yet I lie, I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well:- fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And, if I die, no soul will pity me:-

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself.

Methought the souls of all that I had med
Came to my tent; and every one did that
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

SHA BAR?

CLARENCE'S DREAM.

Он, I have passed a miserable night-.
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Methought that I had broken from the tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,
And, in my company, my brother Gloster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befallen us. As we paced along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloster stumbled; and in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown;
What dreadful noise of water in my ears:
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scattered in the bottom of the sea :

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 't were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Oh, then began the tempest to my soul!
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger sou

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Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud, "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud,
"Clarence is come false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howléd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.

SHAKSPEARE.

HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY ON THE CONTENTS OF A LETTER.

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"BUT for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to De there, in respect of the love I bear house." your He could be contented 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's certain 't is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord Fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck the flower safety. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named, uncertain; the time itself, unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition." -Say you so, say you So I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! 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 is this! 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 I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not some of them set forward already?

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What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall sce now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh! I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action!- Hang him! let him tell the king. We are prepared, I will set forward to-night.

SHAKSPEARE

KING EDWARD'S LAMENT OVER CLARENCE

HAVE I a tongue to doom my brother's death,
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother killed no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him? who, in my wrath,
Kneeled at my feet, and bade me be advised?
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said, "Dear brother, live, and be a king?"
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments; and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters, or your waiting vassals,
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,

You straight are on your knees for pardon, parden
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:
But for my brother, not a man would speak,
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
O God! I fear thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this.
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh,
Poor Clarence!

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