Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up

To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable;

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,

And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:

I am no orator, as Brutus is, But as you know me all, a plain blunt man,

That love my friend: and that they know full well

That gave me public leave to speak of him.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,

Action, nor utterance,

nor the

power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;

I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus,

these days,

Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power, Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,

As both of you, God pardon it! have done,

To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

Send danger from the east unto the west,

So honor cross it from the north to south,

And let them grapple; O! the blood more stirs

To rouse a lion than to start a hare. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap,

To pluck bright Honor from the palefaced moon;

Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,

And pluck up drowned honor by the locks;

So he that doth redeem her thence,

No, if a Scot would save his soul, he

shall not:

I'll keep them, by this hand.

I will; that's flat:He said he would not ransom Mortimer;

Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;

But I will find him when he lies asleep,

And in his ear I'll holla-"Mortimer!"

Nay,

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak

Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,

To keep his anger still in motion.
All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bo-
lingbroke:

And that same sword-and-buckler
Prince of Wales, -

But that I think his father loves him

not,

And would be glad he met with some mischance,

I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale.

Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods,

Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear

Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time, What do you call the place?

A plague upon't! it is in Gloucestershire;

'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept;

His uncle York:- where I first bowed my knee

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,

When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!

Look, when his infant fortune came to age,

And,-gentle Harry Percy, — and kind cousin,

The devil take such cozeners!-
Heaven forgive me!-
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have

done.

SHAKSPEARE: King Henry IV.

We never valued this poor seat of England;

And therefore, living hence, did give ourself

To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common,

That men are merriest when they are from home.

But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my state;

Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness,

When I do rouse me in my throne of France:

For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for workingdays;

But I will rise there with so full a glory,

That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,

Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.

And tell the pleasant prince,—this mock of his

Hath turned his balls to gun-stones;