So far as virtue goes—but could he place
His daughter on the throne of Sicily—
O! ’tis a glorious bribe; too much for man!
What is it then!—I care not what it is.
Would he were fatter—but
I fear him not.
Yes, if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid,
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much—
He is a great observer—and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men.
He loves no plays: he hears no music.
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
As if he mock’d himself, and scorn’d his spirit,
That could be moved to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart’s ease,
Whilst they behold a greater than themselves—
And, therefore, are they very dangerous.
A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain. Dries me there, all-the foolish, dull, and crudy vapours which environ it: makes it apprehensive, quick, inventive; full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes, which, delivered over to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit—The second property of your excellent sherris, is, the warming of the blood; which, before, cold and settled, left the liver white and pale: which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice. But the sherris warms it, and makes its course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illuminateth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then, the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage—and this value comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon, is nothing without sack; for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris—If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be—to foreswear thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack.
A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy—Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew nether socks and mend them, and foot them too. A plague on all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [Drinks.
You rogue! here’s lime in this sack too. There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man. Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it—–Go