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The multitude, which cannot one thing long
Like, or disike, being cloy'd with vanity,
Will hate their own delights ; though wisdom do not,
Ev'n weariness at length, will give 'em eyes.

Nero,
Haft thou not seen the ragged multitude,
Whose stupid brains are stuff’d with nothing else
But their mechanick skill; whose highest strain
Of cunning, is to get some musty meat
To feed the hungry maw, or ragged cloaths
To cover nakedness, proclaim us bloody tyrants ?
These are they
Whose strange distractions guided by the voice
Of two or three, proclaim a traitor's death :
Now fave him ferait; and now nor save, nor kill,
Nor yet release him : such their frantick will.

W. Hemmings's Jews Tragedy. But this rough tide, the meeting multitude,

If we oppose, we make our voyage long ; Yet when we with it row, it is subdu'd ;

And we are wise, when men in vain are strong. Then to the people fue ; but hide your force ;

For they believe the strong are ftill unjuft: Never to armed suitors yield remorse ;

And where they see the pow'r, the right distrust. Assault their pity, as their weakest part;

Which the first plaintiff never fails to move ; They search but in the face to find the heart; And grief in princes, more than triumph love.

Sir W. Davenant's Gondiberts. The giddy multitude, who never fear A threatning danger, till they see it near, Do fondly from their own protection fly, And just assistance to their king deny. Oppos'd by some, forsaken by the rest; All will be conquer'd, rather than oppreft : N 6

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But when deftruction on themselves they bring,
They then revenge their follies on their king.

Crown's Charles VIII. of France.

M U R DE R. Horror pursues the homicide's fad soul,

Fear hunts his ccnscience with an hue and cry, That drinks the blood of men in murder's bowl ;

Suspicious thoughts do reft in life deny ;

Hate seldom iuffers him in peace to die :
By heav'n's inviolate doom it i decreed,
Whose hands shed blood, his heart in death should bleed.

Mirror for Magiftrates,
Stars, hide your fires !
Let not light fee my black and deep desires ;
The eye wink at the hand ! yet, let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

Shakespear's Macbeth.
She must die ; else she'll betray more men.
Pat out the light, and then, put out the light ;
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I refent: but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'it pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relumine.-
When I have pluck'd thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again ;
It needs must wither.-I'll smell thee on the tree ;
Oh balmy breath, that doth almost persuade
Justice to break her sword ! -one more ; one more ;
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after, One inore, that's the last ;
So sweet, was ne'er so fatal! I must weep,
But they are cruel tears : this forrow's heav'nly ;
It strikes, where it doth love..

Shakespear's Othello.
fi O horror! horror ! horror!
Nor tongue, por heart, cannot conceive, nor name thee.

2. What's

2. What's the matter?
1. Confusion now hath made his master-piece;
Most facrilegious murder hath broke ope
The lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o'th' building.

Shakespear's Macbeth.
See, how the blood is settled in his face?
Oft have I seen a timely-parted gholt,
Of alhy semblance, meager, fale, and bloodless ;
Being all descended to the lab'ring heart,
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ;
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returns
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black and full of blood;
His eye-bills further out, than when he liv'd;
Staring full-ghastly, like a strangled man;
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling:
His hands abroad display'd, as one that graspd
And tugg’d for life, and was by ftrength fubdu'd.
Look on the sheets ; his hair, you see, is sticking ;
His well-proportion'd beard, made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempeft lodg'd :
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here :
The least of all these signs are probable.

Skakespear's

Second Part of King Henry VI. Who finds the heiter dead, and bleeding fresh, And sees fast by a butcher with an ax, But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter ? Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite foar with unbloody'd beak ? Ev'n fo suspicious is this tragedy.

Ibid. Blood though it sleep a time, yet never dies : The gods on murd'rers fix revengeful eyes.

Chapman's Widow's tears.

When

When murd'rers shut deeds close, this curse does fealthem; If none disclose them, they themselves reveal them.

Tourneur's Revenger's Tragedy. Murder is open-mouth'd ; and as the sea Whose cov’tous waves imprison'd by the land, Bellow for grief, and roar upon the sand : So from the earth it cries, and like a child, Wrong'd by his careless nurse, will not be stillid.

Mason's Muleafles. There's great suspicion of the murder ; But no sound proof who did it: for my part, I do not think she hath a soul so black To act a deed fo bloody; if she have, As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines, And with warm blood manure them ; even fo, One summer she will bear unsav'ry fruit; And ere next spring, wither both branch and root.

Webster's White Devil. Murder itself is past all expiation, The greatelt crime that nature doth abhor : Not being, is abominable to her ; And when we be, make others not to be, 'Tis worse than beftial : and we did not so, When only we by nature's aid did live. A het'rogeneous kind, as semi-beasts ; When reason challeng'd searce a part in us ; But now doth manhood and civility Stand at the bar of justice, and there plead How much they're wronged ; and how much defac'a. When man doth dye his hands in blood of man. Judgment itself would scarce a law enact Against the murd'rer, thinking it a fact That man 'gainst man would never dare commit; Since the worst things of nature do not it.

Goffe's Oreftes. Blood hath strange organs to discourse withal; It is a clam'rous orator, and then

Ex's

Ev'n nature will exceed herself, to tell
A crime, so thwarting nature

Gomer sall's Lodovick Sforza:

Who by blood offends, By his own, facrific'd must make amends.

Randolph's Amyntas. And those who to themselves lov'd life deny ; Want feldom pow'r to aid their will, When they would others kill.

Sir W. Davenant's Siege of Rhodes.
SELF. M U RDĚ R.
To be, or not to be ? that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The sings and arrows of outragious fortune ;
Or to take-arms against a fea of troubles,
And by oppofing, end them ? to die, to sleepấ:
No more ; and by a sleep, to say, we end
The heart-ach, and the thousand nat'ral shocks
That flesh is heir to ; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be with’d. To dieto sleep--
To sleep? perchance, to dream ; ay, there's the rub-
For in that seep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us paule.

- There's the respect,
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes ;
When he himself might his quietus make,
With a bare hodkin ? Who would fardells bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something after death,
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn:
No traveller returns) puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.

Thus

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