 Me Thinks I Am a Prophet New Inspired, from King Richard II, Act II, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Me Thinks I Am a Prophet New Inspired, and thus, expiring do foretell of him. His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last, for violent fires soon burn out themselves. Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short. The tires be times that spurs too fast be times. With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder. Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, consuming means soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by nature for herself against infection under the hand of war, this happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea which serves it in the office of a wall or as a moat defensive to a house against the envy of less happier lands, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, this nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings feared by their breed and famous by their birth, renowned for their deeds as far from home, for Christian service and true chivalry as is the sepulchre in stubborn jewelry of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son. This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, dear for her reputation through the world is now leased out, I die pronouncing it like to a tenement or pelting farm. England bound in with the triumphant sea whose rocky shore beat back the envious siege of watery Neptune is now bound in with shame, with inky blots and rotten parchment bonds. That England that was want to conquer others hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Would the scandal vanish with my life? How happy then were my ensuing death! End of more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org Recording by Elizabeth Clutt Enforced thee, art thou king, and willed be forced, I shame to hear thee speak, a timorous wretch, thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me, and given unto the house of York such head as thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, what is it but to make thy sepulchre and creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais. Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas. The duke is made protector of the realm, and yet shalt thou be safe. Such safety find the trembling lamb and vironed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, the soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes before I would have granted to that act. But thou perverse thy life before thine honour, and seeing thou dust, I hear divorce myself, both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, until that act of Parliament be repealed whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have foresworn thy colours will follow mine if once they see them spread, and spread they shall be to thy foul disgrace and utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. End of Enforced Thee. From Henry VI. Part III. Act I. Scene I. This recording is in the public domain. Brave Warriors. From Henry VI. Part III. Act I. Scene IV. By William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. Brave Warriors. Clifford in Northumberland. Come! Make him stand upon this mole-hill here, that wrought at mountains without stretched arms, yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! Was it you that would be England's king? Was it you that reveled in our Parliament and made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward and the lusty George. And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dickie, your boy, that with his grumbling voice was won't to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York, I stained the snapkin with the blood that valiant Clifford with his rapier's point made issue from the bosom of the boy, and if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks with all. Alas! poor York! But that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I pray thee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What! hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails, that not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad, and I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be feed, I see, to make me sport. York cannot speak unless he wear a crown, a crown for York, and lords, bow low to him. Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on. Marry, sir. Now looks he like a king. I—this is he that took King Henry's chair, and this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet is crowned so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I be-think me, you should not be king till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, and rob his temples of the diadem, now in his life, against your holy oath? Oh! it is a fault too, too unpardonable. Off with the crown, and with the crown, his head. And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. End of Brave Warriors, from Henry VI, Part III, Act I, Scene IV, by William Shakespeare. This recording is in the public domain. The Advice to the Players, from Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act III, Scene II, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by Brian Lee Rosso, October 9, 2007. Speak the speech I pray you, as I pronounced it to you trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as leaf the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus. But use all gently. For in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-painted fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I could have such a fellow whipped for or doing term again. It out herids herid. Pray you avoid it. Pray not too tame, neither. But let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word, to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature, for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing. Whose end, both at the first and now, was and is to hold as to her the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and the pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve. The censure of the which one must, in your allowance, or weigh a whole theatre of others. Oh, there be players, that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gate of Christian pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well. They imitated humanity so abominably. Oh, reform it all together. But let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too. Though, in the meantime, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That's villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. This concludes the advice to the players from Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Act 3, Scene 2 This recording is in the public domain. Prologue from Troilus and Cressida by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Charlene V. Smith. In Troy there lies the scene. From Isles of Gris the Prince is Orgulus, their high blood chafed. Up to the port of Athens sent their ships. Frought with the ministers and instruments of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore their crown at Regal. From the Athenian they put forth toward Fridja. And their vow was made to ransack Troy. Within whose strong amours the ravished Helen, Menelaus Queen, with wanton Paris sleeps. And that's the quarrel. To Tendros they come. And the deep-drawing bargs do their disgorge their war-like frottage. Now on Darden plains, the fresh and yet unbrewsive Greeks do pitch their brave pavilions. Priam's six-skated city, Darden and Timbria, Aelius, Ketis, Troyan, and Antonorities, With massy staples and chorus sponsors and fulfilling bolts, Spur up the sons of Troy. Now expectation tickling skitter spirits on one and other side. Troyan and Greek sets all on hazard. And hither am I come, a prologue armed, But not in confidence of author's pen or actor's voice, But suited in like conditions as our argument, To tell you, fair beholders, that our play leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, Beginning in the middle, starting thence away to what may be digested in a play. Like, or find fault, do as your pleasures are. Now good or bad, tis but the chance of war. Act II, Seen to, by William Shakespeare. Thus thou love me, I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word. Yet if thou swearest thou mayest prove false, At lovers' peajours, then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, Pronounce it faithfully, or if thou thinkest I am too quickly one, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, So thou wilt lo, but else not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fawn, And therefore thou mayest think my haviour light, But trust me, gentlemen, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheardest ere I was where my true love's passion. Therefore, pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. End of, thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, From Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II. This recording is in the public domain. O spite, O hell, I see you all are bent, From Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, Scene II, By William Shakespeare. This is the LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Victoria Clark. O spite, O hell, I see you all are bent, To set against me for your merriment. If you were civil and new courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so, To vow and swear and super praise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals and love Hermia, And now both rivals to mock Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, With your derision none of noble sort, Would so offend a virgin and extort, A poor soul's patience all to make you sport. End of O spite, O hell, I see you all are bent, From a Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, Scene II, by William Shakespeare. This recording is in the public domain. Now is the winter of our discontent From Richard III, Act I, Scene I, By William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, Please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Vin Riley. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York And all the clouds that laud upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarm's changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures, Grim visaged war had smoothed his wrinkled front, And now, instead of mounting barbid steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that I'm not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous-looking glass, I that am rudely stamped, And want love's majesty to strut Before a wanton-ambling nymph, I that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent Before my time into this breathing-world scarce half-made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them. Why I, in this weak-piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descantle my own deformity, And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, induction's dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other, And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that, Gee, of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive thoughts down to my soul, here Clarence comes. End of Now is the Winter of Our Discontent, From Richard III, Act I, Scene I. This recording is in the public domain. I know a bank where the wild time blows. From Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II, Scene I, by William Shakespeare. Recorded for the Vox.org by Schertigal. I know a bank where the wild time blows. Where oxlips and the knotting violet grows, Quite over canopy with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk roses and with eglutine, There sleeps Titania, some time of the night. Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight, And there the snake throws her enabled skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in, The juices of this all streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. Take thou some of it and seek through this grove, A sweet Athenian lady is in love with a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes, but do it when the next thing he aspires may be the lady. Thou shalt know the man by the Athenian garments he hath on. Affect it with some care, that he may prove more fond on her Than she upon her love. And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. And of I know a bank where the wild time blows. This recording is in the public domain. Farewell, God knows when we shall meet again. From Romeo and Juliet, Act IV, Scene III, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Caitlyn Cooper. Farewell, God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear of thrills through my veins That almost freezes up the heat of life. I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse, what should she do here? My dismal scene I need must act alone. Come, vile. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to more mourning? No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there. What if it be a poison, Which the friar subtly hath ministered to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonored? Because he married me before to Romeo. I fear it is. And yet me thinks it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo come to redeem me? There is a fearful point. Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no health-stone air breathes in, And there dyes strangled air my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like The horrible conceit of death and night Together with the terror of the place, As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years The bones of all my buried ancestors are packed? Where bloody tipplet, yet but green And earth lies festering in his shroud? Where, as they say, at some hours In the night-spirits resort, Alack, alack, it is not like that I, so early waking, What with loathsome smells and shrieks Like mandrakes torn out of the earth, That living mortals hearing them run mad? Oh, if I wake shall I not be distraught Environed with all these hideous fears, And madly play with my forefather's joints, And pluck the mangled tipplet from his shroud? And in this rage of some great kinsman's bone As with a club dash out my desperate brains? Oh, look, me thinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point! Stay, tipplet, stay! Romeo, I come! This do I drink to thee! End of Farewell, God knows When we shall meet again From Romeo and Juliet Act four, scene three This recording is in the public domain Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar From the Midsummer Night's Dream Act two, scene one, by William Shakespeare Recording by Katelyn Cooper This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar Over park, over pale Through flood, through fire I do wander everywhere Swifter than the moon's spear And I serve the fairy queen To do her orbs upon the grain How slips tall her pensioners be In their gold-coat spots you see Those beroobies very favors And those freckles live their savers I must go seek some dewdrops here And hang a pearl in every cow's slips here Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone Our queen and all our elves come here and on End of Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar From a Midsummer Night's Dream Act two, scene one This recording is in the public domain O all you host of heaven, O earth, what else From Hamlet, Act one, scene five Bellyom Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Caitlyn Cooper O all you host of heaven, O earth, what else And shall I couple hell? O fie, hold hold my heart And you my sinews grow not instant old But bear me stiffly up, remember thee I, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe, remember thee Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fawn records All saws of books, all forms, all pressures pass That you, for an observation, copied there And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain Unmixed with baser matter Yes, by heaven, O most pernicious woman O villain, villain, smiling damn villain My tables, meet it as I set it down That one may smile and smile and be a villain At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark So, uncle, there you are Now to my word, it is I do, I do Remember me, I have sworn it End of, O all you host of heaven, O earth, what else From Hamlet, Act one, scene five This recording is in the public domain Hecate's Monologue from Macbeth, Act three, scene five By William Shakespeare This is the LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rhonda Fetterman Have I not reason, belldoms as you are Saucy and overbold How did you dare to trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death And I, the mistress of your charms The close contriver of all harms Was never called to bear my part Or show the glory of our art And which is worse all you have done Have been but for a wayward son Spiteful and wrathful who as others do Loves for his own ends, not for you But make amends now, get you gone And at the pit of Archeron meet me in the morning Vither he will come to know his destiny Your vessels and your spells provide Your charms and everything beside I am for the air This night I'll spend unto a dismal and fatal end Great business must be raw air noon Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound I'll catch it air it come to ground And that, distilled by magic slights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion He shall spurn, fate, scorn, death And bear his hopes above wisdom, grace, and fear And you all know security is mortal's chiefest enemy End of Hecatee's monologue from Macbeth Act III, Scene V This recording is in the public domain My mistress with a monster is in love From a Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, Scene II by William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rhonda Fetterman My mistress with a monster is in love Near to her close and consecrated bower While she was in her dull and sleeping hour A crew of patches, rude mechanicals That work for bread upon Athenian stalls Were met together to rehearse a play Intended for Great Theseus's nuptial day The shallowest thick skin of that barren sort Who Pyramus presented in their sport Forsook his scene and entered in a break When I did him at this advantage take An ass's knoll I fixed on his head A non-his-thisby must be answered And forth my mimic comes When they hymn spy As wild geese that the creeping fowlers eye Or russet-pated chuffs Many in sort, rising and cawing At the gun's report, sever themselves And madly sweep the sky So at his sight away his fellows fly And at our stamp here oar An oar one falls He murder cries and help from Athen's calls Their sense thus weak Lost with their fears thus strong Made senseless things begin to do them wrong For briars and thorns at their apparel snatch Some sleeves, some hats, some yielders All things catch, I led them on In this distracted fear And left sweet Pyramus translated there When in that moment so it came to pass Tatania waked and straight away Loved an ass End of my mistress with a monster is in love From a mid-summer night's dream, act three, scene two This recording is in the public domain Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies From Julius Caesar, act two, scene two By William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rhonda Fetterman What mean you Caesar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house today Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies Yet now they fright me There is one within Beside the thing we have heard and seen Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch A lioness hath welped in the streets And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead Fierce, fiery warriors Fought upon the clouds In ranks and squadrons in right form of war Which drizzled blood upon the capital The noise of battle hurtled in the air Horses did neigh and dying men did groan And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets Oh Caesar, these things are beyond all use And I do fear them When beggars die There are no comets seen The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes Alas, my lord, your wisdom is consumed in confidence Do not go forth today Call it my fear that keeps you in the house And not your own We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House And he shall say you are not well today Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this End of Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies From Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene II This recording is in the public domain Rebellious Subjects, Enemies to Peace From Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene I By William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nathan Pilling Rebellious Subjects, Enemies to Peace Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel Will they not hear? What ho? You men, you beasts That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins On pain of torture from those bloody hands Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground And hear the sentence of your moved prince Three civil brawls bread of an airy word By thee, old Capulet and Montague, Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments To wield old partisans in hands as old Cancored with peace to part your cankered hate If ever you disturb our streets again Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace For this time all the rest depart away You, Capulet, shall go along with me And Montague, come this afternoon To know our further pleasure in this case To Old Freetown, our common judgment place Once more, on pain of death, all men depart Rebellious subjects Enemies to Peace From Romeo and Juliet Act I, Scene I This recording is in the public domain Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Elizabeth Klett I, I, Antiphalus, look strange and frown Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects I am not Adriana, nor thy wife The time was once when thou unerged Whatst thou that never words were music to thine ear That never object pleasing in thine eye That never touch well welcome to thy hand That never meet sweet savoured in thy taste Unless I spake or looked or touched Or carved to thee How comes it now, my husband? Oh, how comes it that thou art thus estranged From thyself? Thyself, I call it, being strange to me That undividable, incorporate I am better than thy dear self's better part Ah, do not tear away thyself from me For know my love, as easy mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf And take unmingled that same drop again Without addition or diminishing As take from me thyself and not me too How dearly would it touch me to the quick Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious And that this body, consequent to thee By ruffian lust should be contaminant Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me And hurl the name of husband in my face And tear the stained skin off my harlot brow And from my false hand cut the wedding ring And break it with a deep divorcing vow I know thou canst And therefore see thou do it I am possessed with an adulterate blot My blood is mingled with the crime of lust For if we too be one And thou play false I do digest the poison of thy flesh Being strumpeted by thy contagion Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed I live unstained, thou undishonored End of Adriana's Speech to Antipolis From the Comedy of Errors Act II, Scene II This recording is in the public domain Isabella Saliliqui from Measure for Measure Act II, Scene IV, by William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Elizabeth Klett To whom should I complain? Did I tell this? Who would believe me? O perilous mouths That bear in them one in the self-same tongue Either of condemnation or proof Bidding the law make curtsy to their will Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite To follow as it draws I'll to my brother Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour That had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks He'd yield them up Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorred pollution Then Isabella live chased And brother die More than our brother is our chastity I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request And fit his mind to death For his soul's rest End of Isabella's Saliliqui From measure for measure Act two, scene four This recording is in the public domain Portious speech to Brutus From Julius Caesar Act two, scene one By William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Elizabeth Klett Is Brutus sick? And is it physical to walk Unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What? Is Brutus sick? And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the roomy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus. You have some sick offence Within your mind Which, by the right and virtue of my place I ought to know of And upon my knees I charm you By once commended beauty By all your vows of love And that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one That you unfold to me Yourself, your half Why you are so heavy And what men tonight Have had to resort to you For here have been some six or seven Who did hide their faces Even from darkness I should not need If you were gentle, Brutus Within the bond of marriage Tell me, Brutus, is it accepted That I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself but, as it were, In sort or limitation To keep with you at meals Comfort your bed and talk to you sometimes Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure If it be no more Portia is Brutus's harlot Not his wife If this were true Then should I know this secret I grant I am a woman But with all a woman That Lord Brutus took to wife I grant I am a woman But with all a woman well reputed Cato's daughter Think you I am no stronger Than my sex Being so fathered and so husbanded Tell me your counsels I will not disclose them I have made strong proof Of my constancy To bring myself a voluntary wound Here in the thigh Can I bear that with patience And not my husband's secrets? End of Portia's speech to Brutus From Julius Caesar Act II Scene I This recording is in the public domain Is he not approved in the height of villain That has slandered scorn Dishonored my kinswoman? Oh, that I were a man! What, bear her in hand Until they come to take hands And then with public accusation Uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour Oh, God that I were a man I would eat his heart in the marketplace Talk with a man out at a window A proper saying Hero, she is wronged She is slandered She is undone Princes and counties Surely a princely testimony A goodly count-count-confect A sweet gallant, surely Oh, that I were a man for his sake Oh, that I had any friend Would be a man for my sake But manhood is melted into courtesies Valor into compliment And men are only turned into tongue And trim ones too He is now as valiant as Hercules Lies and swears it I cannot be a man with wishing Therefore