ACT I

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote:
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ -
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight -

....'The judgement of Shakespeare in the selection of his materials, and in the manner in which he has made them, heterogeneous as they are, constitute a unity of their own, and contribute all to one great end, is not less admirable than his imagination, his invention, and in his intuitive knowledge of human nature.'