And spur my dull revenge. What is a man,
If his chief good and market107 of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse109,
Looking before and after110, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust112 in us unused. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven113 scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th'event114--
A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward--I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing's to do117,
Sith118 I have cause and will and strength and means
To do't. Examples gross119 as earth exhort me:
Witness this army of such mass and charge120
Led by a delicate and tender121 prince,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed
Makes mouths at the invisible event123,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death and danger dare125,
Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great126
Is not to stir without great argument127,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw128
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father killed, a mother stained,
Excitements of my reason and my blood131,
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame134,
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot135