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Ant. Why, fear not, man : I will not forfeit it:
Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others !—Pray you tell me this ;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ;
And, for

love, I

pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ;
Give him direction for this merry bond ;
And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
See to my house (left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave), and presently
I will be with you.

[Exit SHYLOCK. Ant.

Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind.

Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.

Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt.

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King Henry IV. (Part I.)
Characters present, PRINCE HENRY, Poins, and others.

Fal. Hal, there's villanous news abroad : here was Sir John
Bracy from your father: you must to the court in the morning.
That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales —
what a plague call you him ?


Poins. O! Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen; the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland ; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular.

Prince. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the

Hal, art thou not horrible afeard ? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower ? Art thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I ? content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

Prince. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown! Fal. Well

, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept.

Prince. Well, here is my knee.

Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears. Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses ? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest; for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

Prince. What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be falsely given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, tell me, where hast thou been this month?

Prince. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a poulter's hare.

Prince. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
Prince. Now, Harry! whence come you ?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false.

Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with th grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years ? Wherein is he good but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning but in craft? wherein crafty but in villany? wherein villanous but in all things ? wherein worthy but in nothing ?

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace?

Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

Fal. My lord, the man I know.
Prince. I know thou dost.

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the


pity, his white hairs do witness it: but that he is, saving your reverence, iniquitous, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff

, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company : banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

Prince. I do, I will.

King Richard II.


Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.
Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave ?

At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
While all tongues cried—God save thee, Bolingbroke !
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of


and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once,Jesu preserve thee I welcome, Bolingbroke ! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,

Bespake them thus,- I thank you, countrymen :
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

Duch. Alack, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes


After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious :-
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off

, —
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience, -
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for



King John.

Act III., SCENE III. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much ! within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love : And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say ; But I will fit it with some better time. By Heaven, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet; But thou shalt have : and, creep time ne'er so slow,

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