AN APOTHECARY. (From Romeo and Juliet.) I do remember an Apothecary, And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. Speech of Henry V. to his soldiers before the walls of Harfleur. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage: Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct ; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it, O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, That those, whom you called fathers, did beget you! And teach them how to war!- And you, good yeomen, That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not; I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Cry-God for Harry! England! and Saint George! LOVERS BY MOONLIGHT. (From the Merchant of Venice.) How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims: MUSIC. (From the Merchant of Venice.) Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; Let no such man be trusted. Speech of Marullus, a Roman citizen, to a rabble in the street who were taking a holiday on the occasion of Cæsar's triumph.-(From Julius Cæsar.) Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone; Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague DIALOGUE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. (From Julius Cæsar.) Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Cæsar for their king. Cas. Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well: I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Cæsar; so were you: And swim to yonder point?— Upon the word, |