Those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front. It is my only suit, Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. Why, who cries out on pride That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not on my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.
This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler? No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 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. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
Something wicked this way comes. Why, then the world's mine oyster, which I with sword will open. To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.