How all occasions inform against me, and stimulate my dull revenge! What is a man, if his chief good and the market of his time are nothing but sleep and food? a beast, nothing more. Of course, he who made us with such a broad discourse, looking before and after, did not give us that divine ability and reason to merge in us unused. Now, whether it be bestial oblivion, or some vile scruple of thinking too precisely of the event, a thought which, when quartered, has only one part wisdom and never three parts cowardice, I don't know why I still live to say "This what is to be done; «Yes, I have cause, will, strength and means to do it. Examples as crude as the earth exhort me: witness this army of such mass and charge led by a delicate and tender prince, whose spirit with divine ambition snorts and mouths the invisible event, exposing what is mortal and uncertain to all that fortune, death and danger dares, even for an eggshell Rightly to be great is not to move without great arguments, but to find great quarrels in a straw when honor is at stake. How am I then, if I have a murdered father, a stained mother, the excitement of my reason and my blood, and I let everyone sleep while, to my shame, I see? the impending death of twenty thousand men, who, for a fancy and a joke of fame, go to their graves as beds, fight for a plot where numbers cannot test the cause, which is not grave and continent enough to hide the killed? Oh, from now on