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T must be by his death-and yet, for my part,

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I know no perfonal caufe to fpurn at him.

He would be crown'd

How that might change his-nature-there's the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder :
And that craves way walking Crown him-that-
And, then, 1 grant we put a fting in him,
That, at his will, he may do danger with.

Th' abufe of greatnefs, is, when it disjoins-
Remorse from power: tho' to fpeak truth of Cæfar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reafon. But 'tis a common proof,
That lowlinefs is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upward turns his face ;-
But, when he once attains the upmoft round,
He, then, unto the ladder-turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, fcorning the bafe degrees -
By which he did afcend. So Cæfar may.-
Then, left he may, prevent.-And, fince the quarrel:
Will bear no colour, for the thing he is,
Fa ion it thus that, what he is, augmented,
Would run to these, and thefe extremities:
And, therefore, think him as a ferpent's egg,
Which, hatch'd, would as his kind, grow mischievous-
And kill him in the fhell.-

The exhalations, whizzing in the air,

Give fo much light that I may read by them.

[Opens a letter, and reads.] "Brutus, thou fleep'ft: awake and fee thy felf.


"Shall Rome

Such inftigations have been dropp'd,

speak, ftrike, redress.”—

thus muft I piece it out:

Where I have ta'en them up

"Shall Rome"

"Shall Rome ftand under one man's awe? What! Rome? 66 Thy ancestors did from the ftreets of Rome

"The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.

Speak, ftrike, redrefs."

Am I entreated, then,

To speak, and ftrike ?-O Rone! I make thee promise,

If the redress will follow, thou receiv❜st

Thy full petition, at the hand of Brutus.




OW fhooting o'er the flood his fervid blaze,
The red brow'd fun withdraws his beamy rays.
-Safe in the bay, the crew forget their cares,
And peaceful reft their wearied ftrength repairs.
Calm twilight, now, his drowsy mantle spreads,
And shade on fhade, the gloom, still deep'ning fheds.
The moon, full orb'd, forfakes her watery cave,
And lifts her lovely head above the wave.
The fnowy fplendors, of her modeft ray

Stream o'er the gentle waves, and, quivering, play.
Around her, glittering on the heavens' arch'd brow,
Unnumber'd stars, inclos'd in azure, glow,
Thick as the dew drops of the purple dawn,
Or May-flowers, crowding o'er the daify-lawn.
The canvas whitens in the filvery beam;
And, with a paler red, the pendants gleam.


The mafts tall fhadows tremble o'er the deep.
The peaceful winds an holy filence keep.
The watchman's carol, echo'd from the prows,
Alone at times, awakes the ftill repofe.

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NCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with the English dead.

In peace, there's nothing fo becomes a man,
As modeft ftillness and humility:

But, when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then, imitate the action of the tyger;

Stiffen the finews, fummon up the blood,
Difguife fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
Then, lend the eye a terrible aspect ;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brafs cannon.

Now, fet the teeth, and ftretch the noftril wide ;
Hold hard the breath; and bend up every fpirit
To his full height. Now, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that, like fo many Alexanders,

Have, in these parts, from morn till even, fought,
And fheath'd their fwords, for lack of argument.-
I fee you ftand, like greyhounds in the flips,
Straining upon the ftart.-The game's a-foot-
Follow your spirit and upon this charge,
Cry-God for Harry, England, and St. George!



WOW, entertain conjecture of a time,

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When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,

Fill the wide veffel of the universe.

'From camp to camp

The hum of either army ftilly founds,

That the fixed centinels almoft receive
The fecret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire; and, through their paly flames,
Each battle fees the other's umber'd face.

Steed threatens fteed, in high and boastful neighs,
Piercing the night's dull ear. And, from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With bufy hammers clofing rivets up,

Give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow: the clocks do toll :
And, the third hour of drowsy morning nam'd,
Proud of their numbers, and fecure in foul.
The confident and over-hafty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp

So tedioufly away.-The poor condemned English,
Like facrifices by their watchful fires

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger: and their gefture fad,

Set forth in lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,

Prefenteth them, unto the gazing moon,


So many horrid ghosts.

The royal captain of this little band

Now hies him forth, and vifits all his hoft:

Bids them good-morrow, with a modeft fmile;
And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.
Upon his royal face, there is no note


How dread an army hath enrounded him
But freshly looks, and overbears complaint,
With chearful femblance, and fweet majesty,
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.






HAT's he that wishes more men from England?
My cousin Weftmoreland ?-No, my fair coufin:

If we are marked to die, we are enow

To do our country lofs; and, if to live,

The fewer men, the greater fhare of honour.

No, no, my Lord- wish not a man from England.

Rather proclaim it, Weftmoreland, throughout my hoft,
That he who hath no ftomach to this fight,

May ftraight depart: his paffport fhall be made;
And crowns for convoy put into his purfe:

We would not die in that man's company.
This day is called the feaft of Crifpian.

He, that outlives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will ftand a tip-toe, when this day is named,
And roufe him, at the name of Crifpian.


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