The
Shakespearean "mob," unwashed in mind and body, habitually yields to
it, and justifies itself by a speciousness of argument, against which
a clean vision rebels. The so-called patriotism which seeks expression
in war for its own sake is alone intelligible to Shakespeare's
pavement orators. "Let me have war, say I," exclaims the professedly
patriotic spokesman of the ill-conditioned proletariat in
_Coriolanus_; "it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's
spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy,
lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible.... Ay, and it makes men
hate one another." For this distressing result of peace, the reason is
given that in times of peace men have less need of one another than in
seasons of war, and the crude argument closes with the cry: "The wars
for my money." There is irony in this suggestion of the mercantile
value of war on the lips of a spokesman of paupers. It is solely the
impulsive mindless patriot who strains after mere military glory.
Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
(I. _Henry VI.
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