Shakspere invariably makes the dying speak poetically, and generally prophetically, recognizing the identity of the poetic and prophetic moods, in their highest development, and the justice that gives them the same name. Even _Sir John_, poor ruined gentleman, _babbles of green fields_. Every one knows that the passage is disputed: I believe that if this be not the restoration of the original reading, Shakspere himself would justify it, and wish that he had so written it. _Romeo_ and _Juliet_ talk poetry as a matter of course. In “King John,” act v. scenes 4 and 5, see how differently the dying _Melun_ and the living and victorious _Lewis_ regard the same sunset: _Melun_. . . . . . this night, whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun. _Lewis_. The sun in heaven, methought, was loath to set; But stayed, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measured backward their own ground. The exquisite duet between _Lorenzo_ and _Jessica_, in the opening of the fifth act of “The Merchant of Venice,” finds for its subject the circumstances that produce the mood--the lovely night and the crescent moon--which first make them talk poetry, then call for music, and next speculate upon its nature. Let us turn now to some instances of sweet observance in other kinds. There is observance, more true than sweet, in the character of _Jacques_, in “As You Like It:” the fault-finder in age was the fault-doer in youth and manhood. _Jacques_ patronizing the fool, is one of the rarest shows of self-ignorance. In the same play, when _Rosalind_ hears that _Orlando_ is in the wood, she cries out, “Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?” And when _Orlando_ asks her, “Where dwell you, pretty youth?” she answers, tripping in her rôle, “Here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.” In the second part of “King Henry IV.,” act iv. scene 3, _Falstaff_ says of _Prince John_: “Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh;--but that’s no marvel: he drinks no wine.” This is the _Prince John_ who betrays the insurgents afterwards by the falsest of quibbles, and gains his revenge through their good faith. In “King Henry IV,” act i. scene 2, _Poins_ does not say _Falstaff_ is a coward like the other two; but only--“If he fight longer than he sees reason, I’ll forswear arms.” Associate this with _Falstaff’s_ soliloquy about _honour_ in the same play, act v. scene 1, and the true character of his courage or cowardice--for it may bear either name--comes out.