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CH A P. XVIII.,
THE PROGRESS OF LIFE.
A LL the world's a stage,
11 And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts :
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel ;
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise faws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on fide ;
His youthful hose well fav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk Mank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes,
And whistles in his found. Last scene of all,
That 'ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, fans every thing.

SKAKESPEAR.

C H A P.

CH A P. XIX. The ENTRY of BOLINGBROKE AND RICHARD

INTO LONDON.

DUKE AND Dutchess of York.
Durch. M Y Lord, you told me, you would tell the

V rest,
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two coufins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave ?

Dutch. At that fad stop, my Lord,
Where rude misgovern's hands, from window-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 seem'd to know,
With flow, but ftately pace, kept on his course; :
While all tongues cried, God save thee, Bolingbroke!
You would have thought the very windows fpake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls
With painted imag’ry had said at once,
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Eare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespoke them thus : I thank you countrymen ;
And thus ftill doing, thus he pass'd along.

Dutch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while ?

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,

Are

Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ::
Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God save him !
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
But duft was thrown upon his facred 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, steeld
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But Heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whore high will we bound our calm contents.

SHAKESPEARI

CH A P. XX.
L I . F E

EASON thus with life :

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing .
That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences,

That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'it tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear’st,
Are nurs’d by baseness: thou’rt by no means valiant;
For thou doft fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grossly fear'ft

Thy

Thy death, which is no more. Thou’rt not thyself ;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains, .
That issue out of duft. Happy thou art not ;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou haft, förget'ft. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion hifts to ftrange effects;
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou’rt poor ;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows;
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou haft none; i
For thy own bowels, which do call thee fire;
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the Gout, Serpigo; and the Rheum;
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age ;
But as it were an after-dinner's sleep;
Dreaming on both ; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied Eld; and when thou’rt old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb; nor bounty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even..

- SHAKESPEAR:

Ć HA P. XXI.

HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.

TREMEMBER, when the fight was done,

When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword ;

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Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly dress’d;
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd,
Shew'd like a stubble-land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose ; and took’t away again ; "
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff.--And still he smild, and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the.wind and his nobility,
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me: amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with the wounds ; being galld
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer'd, neglectingly, I know not what :
He should, or should not; for he made me mad,
To see him sine fo brisk, and finell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous falt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd

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