Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed;
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,
That her wide walls encompassed but one man?
O! you and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus, once, that would have brooked
The infernal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king!

26. CARDINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY VIIL-Id. NAY, then, farewell,

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, when he thinks, - good, easy man, - full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea 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 service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have.
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again!

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let 's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard, - say, then, I taught thee, -
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. -
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me!
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee, -
Corruption wins not more than honesty;
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blesséd martyr! Serve the King;
And, - - Prithee, lead me in:

There, take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 't is the King's; my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my King, He would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies!

27. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE PLAYERS. Shakspeare.

SPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but, if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus: but use all gently; for, in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, WHIRLWIND of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, - to very rags, - to split the ears of the GROUNDLINGS; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to

Nature; to show virtue her own feature; scorn, her own image; and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O! there be players that I have seen play, - and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made men well, they imitated humanity so abominably!

to sleep;

28. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. - Shakspeare.
To be or not to be - that is the question!
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or, to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them. - To die,
No more; - and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; - 't is a consummation
Devoutly to be wished! To die; - to sleep; -
To sleep? perchance to dream; - ay, there's the rub:
For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause! There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, - puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

29. NOT ASHAMED OF HIS OCCUPATION. - Original adaptation from Morton. Jasper. Now, there's a nice looking young man for a wedding party!

Stephen. Ah, dad! How are you, dad?

Jas. Not dressed yet? What are you thinking of, you idle dog? Ste. Idle! Excuse me, dad; I was at work afore daylight.

Jas. Work! daylight! what have you to do with daylight, such a day as this? Don't you know that Lady Leatherbridge, and her niece, Lady Valeria, will be here presently? Go to that glass, Sir! gaze upon that coat, waistcoat and trousers, including boots, and then tell me, is that figure Stephen Plum, or a common cotton-spinner, out of the hundreds in his employ ?

Ste. Well, and what 's Stephen Plum, after all 's said and done, but a common spinner, too? A common spinner growed rich, like his father before him? Was n't his father, - bless the old face of him! wasn't he a common spinner, too? No, he wasn't; Jasper Plum was no common spinner; he was one in a thousand, he was! Did n't he use to make the bobbins fly; and did n't he card and comb till his face was as shiny red as a bran new penny bit? Ah! dad, you was something like a man, then, you was!

Jas. Well, I believe I was rather a good hand. But those mechanical times are gone; we are now gentlemen!

Ste. Speak for yourself, dad; I'm no gentleman. I was, and am, and always shall be, a cotton-spinner. Now, don't be unreasonable, dad! have n't you made brother Freddy a gentleman? Surely, one gentleman in a family 's quite enough.

Jas. Yes, Frederick William 's a pretty fellow, - a very pretty fellow.

Ste. Freddy 's been wound on a different bobbin to me. Freddy's been to Oxford College, and larnt no end of larning; and Freddy's been to London, and seen no end of London life.

Jas. And, if you had n't preferred living like a bear, you might have accompanied him, and seen how all the mothers, who had daughters to marry, tried to get him to marry their daughters. Even the head of the illustrious house of Leatherbridge graciously condescended to accept his proposals for her niece, Lady Valeria Westendleigh. The whole affair was moved, debated and carried, in a week; only it was arranged that the wedding should take place here at Bristol during the family's visit to Clifton, to avoid what we call éclat! éclat, Sir! [dignified.]

Ste. Well, I don't wonder at Freddy; Freddy's a handsome chap, and a thorough good fellow; and Jasper Plum is the warmest man in our parts, and can put one hundred thousand yellow-boys into Freddy's breeches-pocket.

Jas. Yellow-boys! breeches-pocket! Stephen Plum, I hope you don't mean to discharge such fearful expressions in the hearing of Lady Leatherbridge!

Ste. Bless you, no; before them female nobs, my grammar 'll be as right as a trivet.

Jas. Female nobs! right as a trivet! Stephen, Stephen, the sad truth is, you 've got no elevation of soul! You'll live and die in cotton!

to me.

Ste. I hope so; I mean to stick to cotton as long as cotton sticks Jas. [taking cotton off his coat]. Cotton sticks to you too much, Stephen Plum

Ste. I wish you 'd stick to cotton, dad, and get rid of all these fine, new, silk-and-satin notions of yours! The idea of your idling away your time, studying parlez vou Fransy! and then getting that whacking looking-glass, where I seed you making great ugly faces at yourself! Don't say you did n't, 'cause Toby and I catched you at it, t' other morning. How we did laugh, surely! Ho, ho, ho!

Jas. What you are pleased to call great ugly faces, Sir, were postures and smiles to receive my guests, - and look at the result! Behold the transmogrified Jasper Plum! Passed into the state of butterfly, out of the state of grub!

Ste. A butterfly, you? I say, dad, don't you feel a little stiffish about the wings? Ho, ho! butterfly and grub! [Suddenly serious.] Look you, dad; winter and summer, in work and out of work, I can manage to keep five hundred cotton spinners, - families and all, a matter of two thousand poor creatures, - and every man, woman and child, among 'em, has helped to make us rich. For my part, I can't lift a bit to my mouth, but I ask myself if any of theirs be empty. No, no! I must live and die among 'em; but what need to tell you so? Don't they love you, and you love them, as dear as dear can be ? Bless your old heart, I know you do! And now, dad, I'll tell you a secret. I'm in love.

Jas. In what?

Ste. In love! and I don't mind to tell you another secret, - it's with a woman!

Jas. In love with a woman!

Ste. Yes; and, now you 're in for it, I'll tell you a third secret, - I want to marry her off-hand, directly.

Jas. The boy 's mad! His brother's marriage has got into his head, and turned it! You marry? and marry a woman, too? What next, I wonder ?

Ste. Don't be angry, dad; I only want a wife of my own, like my father before me; so you'd very much oblige me, if you 'd just name the time and keep it.

Jas. Indeed! before I name the time, Sir, perhaps you 'll condescend to name the woman.

Ste. Ah! now comes the tug. I say, dad, you see that hook atop of the ceiling, - that's just where you 'll jump to, when you hear who 't is. Well, then, the woman I love, and want to marry, is the