SCENE I.--_A thick forest. A dreadful storm._ CORA _has covered her

child in a bed of leaves and moss,_ R. U. E.

CORA. (_Sitting on bank by child,_ R.)--Oh, Nature! thou hast not the strength of love. My anxious spirit is untired in its march; my wearied shivering frame sinks under it. And for thee, my boy, when faint beneath thy lovely burden, could I refuse to give thy slumbers that poor bed of rest! Oh, my child! were I assured thy poor father breathes no more, how quickly would I lay me down by thy dear side!--but down--down forever! (_Thunder and lightning._) I ask thee not, unpitying storm to abate thy rage, in mercy to poor Cora's misery; nor while thy thunders spare his slumbers, will I disturb my sleeping cherub, though Heaven knows I wish to hear the voice of life, and feel that life is near me. But I will endure all while what I have of reason holds. (_Thunder and lightning._) Still, still implacable!--unfeeling elements! yet still dost thou sleep, my smiling innocent! Oh, Death! when wilt thou grant to this babe's mother such repose? Sure I may shield thee better from the storm: my veil may--

ALON. (_Without_ L.)--Cora!

CORA (_Runs to_ C.) Ha!

ALON.--Cora!

CORA--Oh, my heart. Sweet Heaven, deceive me not. Is it not Alonzo's voice?

ALON. (_Louder_)--Cora!

CORA (L. C.)--It is--it is Alonzo!

ALON. (_Very loud_) Cora! my beloved!

CORA (L.) Alonzo! Here!--here!--Alonzo!

[_Runs out._

* * * * *

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

The King is reported to have dismounted before the battle commenced, and to have fought on foot.

Hollinshed states that the English army consisted of 15,000, and the French of 60,000 horse and 40,000 infantry--in all, 100,000. Walsingham and Harding represent the English as but 9,000, and other authors say that the number of French amounted to 150,000. Fabian says the French were 40,000, and the English only 7,000. The battle lasted only three hours.

The noble Duke of Gloucester, the king's brother, pushing himself too vigorously on his horse into the conflict, was grievously wounded, and cast down to the earth, by the blows of the French, for whose protection the King being interested, he bravely leapt against his enemies in defence of his brother, defended him with his own body, and plucked and guarded him from the raging malice of the enemy, sustaining perils of war scarcely possible to be borne.

_Nicolas's History of Agincourt_.

During the battle the Duke of Alençon most valiantly broke through the English lines, and advanced fighting near the King--inasmuch that he wounded and struck down the Duke of York. King Henry seeing this stepped forth to his aid, and as he was leaning down to aid him the Duke of Alençon gave him a blow on his helmet that struck off part of his crown. The King's guards on this surrounded him, when seeing he could no way escape death but by surrendering, he lifted up his arms and said to the King, "I am the Duke of Alençon, and yield myself to you." But as the King was holding out his hand to receive his pledge he was put to death by the guards.

_Monstrelet._

* * * * *

GLOSTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY, ERPINGHAM, _and_ WESTMORELAND _discovered_.

GLO. Where is the king?

BED. The king himself is rode to view their battle.

WEST. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

EXE. There's five to one; besides they're all fresh. 'Tis a fearful odds. If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, Then joyfully my noble lord of Bedford, My dear Lord Gloster, and my good Lord Exeter And my kind kinsman, warriors all--adieu!

WEST. O that we now had here

_Enter_ KING HENRY, _attended_.

But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!

K. HEN. What's he that wishes so? 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. O, do not wish one more; Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. 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 nam'd, 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; And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words,-- Harry, the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-- Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd: This story shall the good man teach his son: And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day 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 ne'er so vile This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day.

_Enter_ GOWER.

GOWER. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. HEN. All things are ready, if our minds be so.

WEST. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

K. HEN. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?

WEST. Heaven's will, my liege, I would you and I alone, Without more help could fight this royal battle!

K. HEN. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; Which likes me better than to wish us one.-- You know your places: God be with you all!

_Enter_ MONTJOY _and attendants._

MONT. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow: For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind Thy followers of repentance; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor bodies Must lie and fester.

K. HEN Who hath sent thee now?

MONT. The Constable of France.

K. HEN. I pray thee, bear my former answer back? Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? The man that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. Let me speak proudly:--Tell the Constable, We are but warriors for the working-day; Our gayness and our gilt, are all besmirch'd With rainy marching in the painful field; There's not a piece of feather in our host (Good argument, I hope, we will not fly), And time hath worn us into slovenry; But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim: And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, And turn them out of service. If they do this, (As if God please, they shall), my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; Which if they have as I will leave 'em them Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

MONT. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well: Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [_Exit._

K. HEN. I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom.

_Enter the_ DUKE OF YORK.

YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.

K. HEN. Take it, brave York--Now, soldiers, march away:-- And how, thou pleasest God, dispose the day!

[_Exeunt._

* * * * *

THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

CASSIUS. That you have wronged me doth appear in this: You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters (praying on his side, Because I knew the man) were slighted of.

BRUTUS. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

CAS. In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment.

BRU. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.

CAS. I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or by the gods! this speech were else your last.

BRU. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore, hide its head.

CAS. Chastisement!

BRU. Remember March, the Ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake? What! I shall one of us That struck the foremost man of all this world

But for supporting robbers--shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be graspéd thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

CAS. Brutus, bay not me. I'll not endure it. You forget yourself To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.

BRU. Go to, you are not, Cassius.

CAS. I am.

BRU. I say you are not.

CAS. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: Have mind upon your health; tempt me no farther.

BRU. Away, slight man!

CAS. I'st possible?

BRU. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frightened when a madman stares?

CAS. Must I endure all this?

BRU. All this! ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break. Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods! You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for from this day forth I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.

CAS. Is it come to this?

BRU. You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true; And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

CAS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say better?

BRU. If you did, I care not.

CAS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus, have moved me.

BRU. Peace, peace! You durst not so have tempted him.

CAS. I _durst_ not?

BRU. No.

CAS. What _durst_ not tempt him?

BRU. For your life you durst not.

CAS. Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for.

BRU. You _have_ done that you _should_ be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; For I can raise no money by vile means. By heavens! I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me! Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods! with all your thunderbolts Dash him to pieces.

CAS. I denied you not.

BRU. You did.

CA. I did not: he was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart, A friend should bear a friend's infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

BRU. I do not till you practise them on me.

CAS. You love me not.

BRU. I do not like your faults.

CAS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

BRU. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear As huge as high Olympus.

CAS. Come, Antony! and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourself alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a-weary of the world-- Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, To cast into my teeth. Oh, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast--within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: If that thou need'st a Roman's, take it forth! I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart. Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

BRU. Sheath your dagger; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O, Cassius, you are yokéd with a man That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Who, much enforcèd, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.

CAS. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?

BRU. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.

CAS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

BRU. And my heart too. (_Embracing._)

CAS. O, Brutus!

BRU. What's the matter?

CAS. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

BRIT. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

_Shakespeare._

* * * * *

SCENES FROM HAMLET.

HAMLET _and_ GHOST _discovered_.

HAMLET, (C) Whither wilt thou lead me? speak! I'll go no further.

GHOST. (L. C.) Mark me.

HAM. (R. C.) I will.

GHOST. My hour is almost come When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames Must render up myself.

HAM. Alas, poor ghost!

GHOST. Pity me not; but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold.

HAM. Speak, I am bound to hear.

GHOST. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

HAM. What?

GHOST. I am thy father's spirit: Doomed for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood: List, list, oh, list!-- If thou didst ever thy dear father love--

HAM. Oh, heaven!

GHOST. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

HAM. Murder!

GHOST. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

HAM. Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge.

GHOST. I find thee apt. Now, Hamlet, hear: Tis given out, that sleeping in my orchard, A serpent stung me; so that the whole ear of Denmark Is, by a forged process of my death, Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown.

HAM. Oh, my prophetic soul! my uncle?

GHOST. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, Won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: Oh, Hamlet, what a falling off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand, even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine!-- But, soft, methinks I scent the morning air-- Brief let me be:--sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a phial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment: whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; So it did mine. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched Cut off, even in the blossoms of my sin, No reck'ning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head.

HAM. Oh, horrible! Oh, horrible! most horrible!

GHOST. It thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest, But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to Heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To goad and sting her. Fare thee well at once The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. (_Vanishes_, L. C)

HAM. (R.) Hold, hold, my heart; And you my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. (C.) Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all forms, all pressures past, And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmixed with baser matter; yes, by heaven, I have sworn it.

_Shakespeare._

* * * * *

HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS.

HAMLET _and_ PLAYER _discovered._

HAMLET. 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 lieve 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. Oh, 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 shows, and noise! I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod pray you avoid it.

1ST ACT. (R.) I warrant your honour.

HAM. Be not too tame, neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, and 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 'twere, 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, over done, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh, 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, or man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

1ST ACT. I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us.

HAM. (C.) Oh, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them: for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villainous; and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. Horatio! (_Exit 1st Actor_, L.)

_Enter_ HORATIO, R.

HORATIO, (R.)--Here, sweet lord, at your service.

HAM.--Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation coped withal.

HOR.--Oh, my dear lord!--

HAM.--Nay, do not think I flatter: For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered? No, let the candid tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish her election, She hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast tae'n with equal thanks: and blessed are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please; give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, aye, in my heart of heart, As I do thee. Something too much of this. There is a play to-night before the king One scene of it comes near the circumstance Which I have told thee of my father's death. I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe mine uncle; if his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in one speech, It is a damned ghost that we have seen, And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's stithy; give him heedful note. For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, And, after, we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming.

HOR.--Well, my lord.

HAM--They are coming to the play, I must be idle. Get you a place (_Goes and stands_, R)

* * * * *

HAMLET AND HIS MOTHER.

HAMLET--Leave wringing of your hands, peace, sit you down, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damnéd custom have not brassed it so, That it be proof and bulwark against sense.

QUEEN--What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me?

HAM--Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, hypocrite, takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage-vows As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act.

QUEEN.--Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?

HAM.--Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man: This was your husband.--Look you now, what follows: Here is your husband; like a mildewed ear, Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love: for, at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have, Else, could you not have motion: but, sure, that sense Is apoplexed: for madness would not err; Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thralled, But it reserved some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling, sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame, When the compulsive ardour gives the charge; Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will.

QUEEN. O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grainéd spots As will not leave their tinct. O, speak to me no more: These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears; No more, sweet Hamlet!

HAM. A murderer, and a villain: A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket.

QUEEN. No more.

_Enter_ GHOST.

HAM. A king of shreds and patches,-- Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards!--What would your gracious figure?

QUEEN. Alas, he's mad!

HAM. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say!

GHOST. Do not forget: this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look! amazement on thy mother sits: O, step between her and her fighting soul, Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works, Speak to her, Hamlet.

HAM. How is it with you, lady?

QUEEN. Alas, how is't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

HAM. On him! on him! Look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable.--Do not look upon me; Lest, with this piteous action, you convert My stern effects: then what I have to do Will want true colour; tears, perchance for blood.

QUEEN. To whom do you speak this?

HAM. Do you see nothing there?

QUEEN. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see.

HAM. Nor did you nothing hear?

QUEEN. No, nothing, but ourselves.

HAM. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!

[_Exit_ GHOST.

QUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in.

HAM. Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music: it is not madness That I have uttered: bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For in the fatness of these pursy times, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good.

QUEEN. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!

HAM. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to mine uncle's room; Assume a virtue, if you have it not Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be blessed, I'll blessing beg of you. I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

_Shakespeare._

* * * * *

MACBETH.