ii B 
 

 SHAKSPERIAN 
 
 ANTHOLOGY : 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 THE CHOICEST PASSAGES AND ENTIRE SCENES; 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE MOST CORRECT EDITIONS; 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 • That, which he hath writ, 
 
 Is with such judgment laboured and distilJ/d 
 Through all the needful uses of our lives, 
 That could a man remember but his lines, 
 He should not touch at any serious point, 
 But he might breathe the spirit out of him- 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAINSBURY, RED LION SQUARE. 
 1830. 
 

 n; 
 
 PRINTED EY C. AND W. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE. 
 
THE 
 
 :.IFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ems to be a kind of respect due to the memory 
 
 cellent men, especially of those whom their wit 
 
 learning have made famous, to deliver some 
 
 int of themselves, as well as their works, to pos- 
 
 ,\ For this reason, how fond do we see some 
 
 le of discovering any little personal story of the 
 
 great men of antiquity ! Their families, the common 
 
 accidents of their lives : and even their shape, make, 
 
 and features, have been the subject of critical enquiries. 
 
 How trifling soever this curiosity may seem to be, it 
 
 is certainly very natural ; and we are hardly satisfied 
 
 with an account of any remarkable person, till we 
 
 have heard him described even to the very clothes he 
 
 wears. As for what relates to men of letters, the 
 
 knowledge of an author may sometimes conduce to 
 
 the better understanding his book: and though the 
 
 works of William Shaksfeare may seem to many 
 
 not to want a comment, yet I fancy some little account 
 
 of the man himself may not be thought improper to go 
 
 along with them. 
 
 He was the son of Mr John Shakspeare, and was 
 born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in Warwickshire, in 
 
vi LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 April 1564. His family, as appears by the register 
 and public writings relating to that town, were of 
 good figure and fashion, and are mentioned as gentle- 
 men. His father, who was a considerable dealer in 
 wool, had so large a family (ten children in all) that 
 though William was his eldest son, he could give him 
 no better education than his own employment. He 
 had bred him, it is true, for some time at a free school, 
 where, it is probable he acquired what Latin he was 
 master of; but the narrowness of his circumstances, 
 and the want of his assistance at home, forced his 
 father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily 
 prevented his further proficiency in that language. 
 
 On his leaving school, he seems to have given 
 entirely into that way of living which his father pro- 
 posed to him; and in order to settle in the world, 
 after a family manner, he thought fit to marry while 
 he was yet very young. His wife was the daughter 
 of one Hathaway, said to have been a subtantial yeo- 
 man, in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In this kind 
 of settlement he continued for some time, till an 
 extravagance that he was guilty of, forced him both 
 out of his country, and that way of living which he 
 had taken up ; and though it seemed at first to be a 
 blemish upon his good manners, and a misfortune to 
 him, yet it afterwards happily proved the occasion of 
 exerting one of the greatest geniuses that ever was 
 known in dramatic poetry. He had, by a misfortune 
 common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill com- 
 pany ; and, amongst them, some that had made a 
 practice of deer-stealing, and who had engaged him 
 more than once in robbing a park that belonged to 
 Sir Thomas Lucy, of Gharlecote, near Stratford, 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. vii 
 
 For this lie was prosecuted by that gentleman, as lie 
 thought, somewhat too severely ; and in order to 
 revenge that ill usage, he made a ballad upon him. 
 And though this (probably the first) essay of his poetry 
 be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, that 
 it redoubled the prosecution against him, to that 
 degree, that he was obliged to leave. his business and 
 family in Warwickshire for some time, and shelter 
 himself in London. 
 
 It is at this time, and upon this accident, that he 
 is said to have made his first acquaintance in the play- 
 house. He was received into the company then in 
 being, at first, in a very mean rank ; but his admirable 
 wit, and the natural turn of it to the stage, soon dis- 
 tinguished him, if not as an extraordinary actor, yet 
 as an excellent writer. His name is printed, as the 
 custom was in those times, amongst those of the other 
 players, before some old plays, but without any par- 
 ticular account of what sort of parts he used to play ; 
 and no further account of him this way, has ever been 
 met with, than that the top of his performance was 
 the Ghost in his own Hamlet. 
 
 Whatever the particular times of Shakspeare's 
 writing were, the people of his age, who began to 
 grow wonderfully fond of diversions of this kind, could 
 not but be highly pleased to see a genius arise amongst 
 them of so pleasureable, so rich a vein, and so plen- 
 tifully capable of furnishing their favourite entertain- 
 ments. Besides the advantages of his wit, he was in 
 himself a good-natured man, of great sweetness in his 
 manners, and a most agreeable companion; so that it 
 is no wonder, if, with so many good qualities, he made 
 himself acquainted with the best conversations of those 
 
viii LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 times. Queen Elizabeth had several of his plays acted 
 before her, and without doubt gave him many gracious 
 marks of her favour : it was not to her only, however, 
 that he owed the fortune which the reputation of his 
 wit made : he met with many uncommon marks of 
 favour and friendship from the earl of Southampton, 
 who at one time gave him a thousand pounds, to 
 enable him to go through with a purchase; a bounty 
 very great and very rare at any time, and almost equal 
 to that profuse generosity the present age has shown 
 to French dancers and Italian singers. 
 
 Every one who had a true taste of merit, and could 
 distinguish men, had generally a just value and esteem 
 for Shakspeare. His exceeding candour and good- 
 nature must certainly have inclined all the gentler part 
 of the world to love him, as the power of his wit obliged 
 the men of the most delicate knowledge and polite 
 learning to admire him. His acquaintance with Ben 
 Jonsori began with a remarkable piece of humanity 
 and good-nature : Jonson, who was at that time 
 altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of 
 his plays to the players, in order to have it acted ; and 
 the persons into whose hands it was put, after having 
 turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just 
 upon returning it to him with an answer that it would 
 be of no service to their company, when Shakspeare 
 luckily cast his eye upon, and found something so well 
 in it, as to engage him first to read it through, and 
 afterwards to recommend Jonson and his writings 
 to the public. Jonson was certainly a very good 
 scholar, and in that had the advantage of Shakspeare; 
 though at the same time it must be allowed, that what 
 nature gave the latter, was more than a balance for 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. ix 
 
 what books had given the former. In a conversation 
 between Sir William D'Avenant, Endymion Porter, 
 Mr Hales of Eton, and Ben Jonson, Sir John Suck- 
 ling, who was a professed admirer of Shakspeare, 
 and had undertaken his defence against Ben Jonson 
 with some warmth ; Mr Hales, who had sat still for 
 some time, told them, " That if Mr Shakspeare had 
 not read the ancients, he had likewise not stolen any 
 thing from them ; and that if he would produce any 
 one topic finely treated by any one of them, he would 
 undertake to show something upon the same subject, 
 at least as well written, by Shakspeare." 
 
 The latter part of his life w T as spent as all men of 
 good sense will wish theirs may be, in ease, retire- 
 ment, and the conversation of his friends.. He had 
 the good fortune to gather , an estate equal to his 
 occasion, and, in that, to his wish ; and is said to have 
 spent some years before his death at his native Strat- 
 ford. He died in the 53rd year of his age, and was 
 buried on the north side of the chancel, in the great 
 church at Stratford, where a monument is placed in 
 the wall. 
 
 He had three daughters, of which two lived to be 
 married; Judith, the elder, to one Mr Thos. Quiney, 
 by whom she had three sons, who all died without 
 children ; and Susanna, who was his favourite, to Dr 
 John Hall, a physician of good reputation in that 
 country. She left one child only, a daughter, who 
 was married first to Thomas Nash, Esq. and after- 
 wards to Sir John Barnard of Abingdon, but died 
 likewise without issue. 
 
 Never, perhaps, was there so comprehensive a talent 
 for the delineation of character as Shakspeare's. It 
 
x LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 not only grasps the diversities of rank, sex, and age, 
 down to the dawnings of infancy ; not only do the 
 king and the beggar, the hero and the pickpocket, the 
 sage and the idiot speak and act with equal truth ; not 
 only does he transport himself to distant ages and 
 foreign nations, and portray in the most accurate 
 manner, with only a few apparent violations of cos- 
 tume, the spirit of the ancient Romans, of the French 
 in their wars with the English, of the English them- 
 selves during a great part of their history, of the 
 Southern Europeans (in the serious part of many 
 comedies) the cultivated society of that time, and the 
 former rude and barbarous state of the North; his 
 human characters have not only such depth and pre- 
 cision that they cannot be arranged under classes, and 
 are inexhaustible, even in conception : — no — this Pro- 
 metheus not merely forms men, he opens the gates of 
 the magical world of spirits ; calls up the midnight 
 ghost; exhibits before us his witches amidst their 
 unhallowed mysteries; peoples the air with sportive 
 fairies and sylphs : — and these beings, existing only in 
 imagination, possess such truth and consistency, that 
 even when deformed monsters like Caliban, he extorts 
 the conviction, that if there should be such beings, 
 they would so conduct themselves. In a word, as he 
 carries with him the most fruitful and daring fancy 
 into the kingdom of nature, — on the other hand, he 
 carries nature into the regions of fancy, lying beyond 
 the confines of reality. We are lost in astonishment 
 at seeing the extraordinary, the wonderful, and the 
 unheard of, in such intimate nearness. 
 
 If Shakspeare deserves our admiration for his cha- 
 racters, he is equally deserving of it for his exhibition 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEAHE. xi 
 
 of passion, taking this word in it's widest signification, 
 as including every mental condition, every tone from 
 indifference or familiar mirth to the wildest rage and 
 despair. He gives us the history of minds ; he lays 
 open to us, in a single word, a whole series of preced- 
 ing conditions. His passions do not at first stand 
 displayed to us in all their height, as is the case with 
 so many tragic poets, who, in the language of Lessing, 
 are thorough masters of the legal style of love. He 
 paints in a most inimitable manner, the gradual pro- 
 gress from the first origin. " He gives/' as Lessing 
 says, " a living picture of all the most minute and 
 secret artifices by which a feeling steals into our souls ; 
 of all the imperceptible advantages which it 'there 
 gains; of all the stratagems by which every other 
 passion is made subservient to it, till it becomes the 
 sole tyrant of our desires and our aversions." Of all 
 poets, perhaps, he alone has portrayed the mental 
 diseases, melancholy, delirium, lunacy, with such 
 inexpressible, and, in every respect, definite truth, 
 that the physician may enrich his observations from 
 them in the same manner as from real cases. 
 
 Shakspeare's comic talent is equally wonderful 
 with that which he has shown in the pathetic and 
 tragic : it stands on an equal elevation, and pos- 
 sesses equal extent and profundity. He is highly 
 inventive in comic situations and motives. It will be 
 hardly possible to show whence he has taken any of 
 them ; whereas, in the serious part of his drama, he 
 has generally laid hold of something already known. 
 His comic characters are equally true, various, and 
 profound, with his serious. So little is he disposed to 
 caricature, that we may rather say many of his traits 
 
xii LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 are almost too nice and delicate for the stage, that 
 they can only be properly seized by a great actor, and 
 fully understood by a very acute audience. Not only 
 has he delineated many kinds of folly; he has also 
 contrived to exhibit mere stupidity in a most divert- 
 ing and entertaining manner. 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 ADMIRATION. 
 All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights 
 Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse 
 Into a rapture lets her baby cry, 
 While she chats him /the kitchen malkin pins 
 Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, 
 Clambering the walls to eye him. Stalls, bulks, windows, 
 Are smother'd up, leads fhTd, and ridges hors'd, 
 With variable complexions — all agreeing 
 In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flamens 
 Do press among the popular throngs, and puff 
 To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
 Commit the war of white and damask in 
 Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
 Of Phcebus , burning kisses : such a pother, 
 As if that whatsoever God who leads him 
 Were slily crept into his human powers, 
 And gave him graceful posture. cor. act ii. sc. l 
 
 ADVERSITY. 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity; 
 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in its head. 
 
 a. Y. l. I. act ii. sc. I 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father 
 
 In manners as in shape ; thy blood and virtue 
 
 Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness 
 
 Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few, 
 
 Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
 
 Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend 
 
 Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, 
 
 But never tax'd for speech. a. w. e. w. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 B 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 ADVICE TO GIRLS. 
 Beware of them, Diana! their promises, en- 
 ticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are 
 not the things they go under: many a maid hath been 
 seduced by them ; and the misery is, example, that so 
 terribly shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for 
 all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with 
 the twigs that threaten them. a. w. e. W. act i\i. sc. 5. 
 
 AFFECTION. 
 Poor lord ! is't I 
 
 That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 
 Of the none-sparing war ? and is it I 
 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 
 Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
 
 Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, 
 
 That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 
 
 Fly with false aim ; move the still-piecing air, 
 
 That siqgs with piercing; do not touch my lord. 
 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there: 
 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 
 I am the caitiff, that do hold him to't ; 
 
 And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 
 His death was so effected : better 'twere 
 
 I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 
 
 With sharp constraint of hunger : better 'twere 
 
 That all the miseries which nature owes 
 
 Were mine at once. ibid, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 -'Twas pretty, though a plague, 
 
 To see him every hour; to sit, and draw 
 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 
 In our heart's table ; heart, too capable 
 
 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour! 
 
 But now he's gone ; and my idolatrous fancy 
 
 Must sanctify his relics. ibid, act i. sc. I. 
 
 If I depart from thee, I cannot live ; 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else, 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 2 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe 
 Dying with mother's dug between its lips. 
 
 hen. vi. p. ii. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 AFFLICTION. 
 No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison ; 
 We two alone will sing like birds i'th'cage. 
 When thou dost ask me blessing, Til kneel down 
 And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gilded butterflies ; and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court-news : and we'll talk with them too, — 
 Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; — 
 And take upon us the mystery of things, 
 As if we were God's spies. And we'll wear out, 
 In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. LEAR, act v. ge. 3. 
 
 ALLEGIANCE. 
 
 Though perils did 
 
 Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and 
 
 Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty, 
 
 As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
 
 Should the approach of this wild river break, 
 
 And stand unshaken yours. hen. viii. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 Nay then, farewell ! 
 
 I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness! 
 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 
 I haste now to my setting. I shall fall 
 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 
 And no man see me more. ibid, act iii. sc. 2 
 
 -'Tis a common proof, 
 
 That lowliness is young Ambition's ladder, 
 Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; 
 But when he once attains the upmost round, 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend. JUL. c^s. act ii. sc. 1, 
 
 3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 
 Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way. 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act iii. sc. 3* 
 
 • Oh, Silius, Silius, 
 
 I've done enough. A lower place, note well, 
 May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius; 
 Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
 
 ant. & cleop. act iii. sc. 
 
 AMBITIOUS LOVE. 
 • It were all one 
 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 
 And think to wed it; he is so above me: 
 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere, 
 
 Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself ; 
 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion, 
 
 Must die for love. A. w. E. w. act i, sc. I. 
 
 ANARCHY. 
 • My soul akes 
 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 
 Neither supreme, how soon confusion 
 
 May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
 
 The one by t'other. COK. act iii. sc. I. 
 
 ANGER. 
 • Stay, my lord ! 
 
 i\nd let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills 
 Requires slow pace. Anger is like 
 A full hot horse, who being allov/d his way, 
 Self-mettle tires him. 
 
 Be to yourself 
 
 As you would to your friend. HEN. vill. act i. sc. 1 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Anger's niy meat; I sup upon myself; 
 
 And so shall starve with feeding. — cor. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 
 And straight is cold again. JUL. cjes. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it? 
 
 He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
 
 Leap'd from his eyes. So looks the chafed lion 
 
 Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
 
 Then makes him nothing. — hen. viii. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Cleopatra's Character of him. 
 His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck 
 A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted 
 The little O, the earth.— 
 His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm 
 Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
 As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; 
 But, when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
 He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
 There was no winter in% — an autumn 'twas, 
 That grew the more by reaping. His delights 
 Were dolphin-like ; they show'd his back above 
 The element they iiv'd in. In his livery 
 WalVd crowns and crownets ; realms and islands were 
 As plates dropp'd from his pocket. — 
 — If there be, or ever were, one such, 
 It's past the size of dreaming. Nature wants stuff 
 To vie strange forms with fancy ; yet, to imagine 
 An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
 Condemning shadows quite, ant. & cleo. act v. se. 2. 
 
 APOTHECARY. 
 
 1 do remember an apothecary, 
 
 And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted 
 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
 Culling of simples ; meager were his looks, 
 5 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: 
 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 
 An alligator stuff d, and other skins 
 
 Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves 
 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, 
 
 Were thinly scattered, to make up a show. 
 
 Noting this penury, to myself I said, — 
 
 An if a man did need a poison now, 
 
 Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
 
 Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 
 
 O, this same thought did but fore-run my need ; 
 
 And this same needy man must sell it me. 
 
 ROM. & JUL. act v. sc. I. 
 
 APPARITION. 
 I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits o'th'dead 
 May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother 
 Appeared to me last night; for ne'er was dream 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
 Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
 So fiird, and so becoming : in pure white robes, 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 My cabin where I lay ; thrice bow'd before me, 
 And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
 Did this break from her : — " Good Antigonus, 
 " Since fate, against thy better disposition, 
 " Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 
 " Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, — 
 " Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
 " There weep, and leave it crying ; and, for the babe 
 " Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 " I pr'ythee, calft : for this ungentle business, 
 " Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 
 " Thy wife Paulina more/' — And so with shrieks 
 She melted into air. wint. tale, act iii. sc. 3. 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 APPEARANCES. 
 Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor ; 
 For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich : 
 And, as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
 So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 Because his feathers are more beautiful? 
 Or is the adder better than the eel, 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW, act iv. SC. 3. 
 
 O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
 
 The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? 
 
 Why, so didst thou. Or seem they grave and learn'd? 
 
 Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family? 
 
 Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious? 
 
 Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet, 
 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; 
 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
 
 Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement ; 
 
 Not working with the eye, without the ear, 
 
 And but in purged judgment trusting neither? 
 
 Such, and so finely boulted, didst thou seem. 
 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 
 To mark the full-fraught man, and best endu'd, 
 
 With some suspicion. — HEN. v. act ii. $c. 2. 
 
 APPLAUSE. 
 
 — Such a noise arose 
 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
 
 As loud, and to as many tunes. Hats, cloaks, 
 
 (Doublets, I think,) flew up ; and had their faces 
 
 Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 
 I never saw before. Great-belly'd women, 
 
 That had not half a week to go, like rams 
 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
 
 And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living 
 
 Could say, This is my wife, there ; all were woven 
 
 So strangely in one piece. HEN. vui. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 APPREHENSION. 
 Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
 Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
 And every object that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
 Would make me sad. merch. of ven. act u sc. 1. 
 
 ARMY ROUTED. 
 Njo blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost, 
 But that the heavens fought. The king himself 
 Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
 Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, 
 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
 More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
 Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd 
 With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
 To die with lengthened shame. cymb. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 ART AND NATURE. 
 
 Nature is made better by no mean, 
 
 But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
 
 Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; 
 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 
 By bud of nobler race. This is an art 
 
 Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but 
 
 The art itself is nature. wint. tale, act iv. sc. S. 
 
 ASTROLOGY RIDICULED. 
 This is the excellent foppery of the world ! that, when 
 we are sick in fortune (often the surfeits of our own 
 behaviour), we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the 
 moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; 
 fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and 
 8 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, 
 and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary 
 influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrust- 
 ing-on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to 
 lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star! My 
 father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's 
 tail; and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it 
 follows, I am rough and lecherous. I should have been 
 what I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament 
 twinkled on my bastardizing. lear, act i. sc. 3. 
 
 AUTHORITY. 
 
 Could great men thunder 
 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; 
 
 For every pelting, petty officer, 
 
 Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. 
 
 Merciful heaven! 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 
 Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 
 
 Than the soft myrtle. O, but man ! proud man ! 
 
 Drest in a little brief authority, 
 
 Most ignorant of what he's most assur d, 
 
 His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 
 As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, 
 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal, 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act ii. SC. 4. 
 
 Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar, 
 
 And the creature run from the cur: There, 
 
 There, thou might'st behold the great image of authority — 
 
 A dog's obey'd in office. 
 
 Thou rascal beadle ! hold thy bloody hand : 
 
 Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thy own back ; 
 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the coz'ner. 
 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 
 Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : 
 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 
 leak, act iv. sc. 6. 
 9 B3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 BANISHMENT. 
 All places that the eye of heaven visits 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus : 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not, the king did banish thee ; 
 But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
 Go, say, — I sent thee forth to purchase honour, 
 And not — the king exil'd thee : or suppose, 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
 Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st. 
 Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; 
 The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence floor ; 
 The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more 
 Than a delightful measure, or a dance: 
 For gnarled sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 
 
 rich. II. acti. sc. 3. 
 
 BASTARDY. 
 Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law 
 My services are bound : Wherefore should I 
 Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 
 The courtesy of nations to deprive me, 
 For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines 
 Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as gen'rous, and my shape as true, 
 As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they us 
 With base, with baseness, bastardy, base, base, 
 Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, tal<e 
 More composition, and fierce quality, 
 Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
 Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, 
 Got 'tween asleep and wake? lear, act i. $c. 2. 
 
 10 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 BACHELOR'S RESOLUTION. 
 I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much 
 another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviour 
 to love, will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow follies 
 in others, become the argument of his own scorn, by 
 falling in love : and such a man is Claudio. I have known 
 when there was no music with him but the drum and 
 fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: 
 I have known when he would have walked ten miles 
 afoot to see a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights 
 awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont 
 to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man 
 and a soldier; and now is he turned orthographer; his 
 words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange 
 dishes. May I be so converted, and see with these eyes? 
 I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn, but love 
 may transform me to an oyster; but Til take my oath on 
 it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make 
 me such a fool. One woman is fair; yet I am well: 
 another is wise; yet I am well: another virtuous; yet 
 I am well : but till all graces be in one woman, one woman 
 shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's 
 certain; wise, or Til none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen 
 her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not 
 near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, 
 an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what 
 colour it please God. much ado, act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 BACHELOR'S RECANTATION. 
 I did never think to marry : — I must not seem proud : — 
 Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put 
 them to mending. They say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, 
 I can bear them witness: and virtuous; — 'tis so, I cannot 
 reprove it: and wise — but for loving me: — By my troth, 
 it is no addition to her wit; nor no great argument of her 
 folly; for I will be horribly in love with her. — I may 
 chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken 
 on me, because I have railed so long against marriage : 
 But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat 
 in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age : — Shall 
 11 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 quips and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, 
 awe a man from the career of his humour? No: the 
 world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a 
 bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. 
 
 much ado, act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 BAWD. 
 The evil that thou causest to be done, 
 That is thy means to live. Dost thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
 From such a filthy vice : Say to thyself, 
 From their abominable and beastly touches, 
 I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending? — Go, mend! mend! 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act Hi. SC. 2. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BOY. 
 Dear lad, believe it ; 
 
 For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 
 
 That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 
 Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 
 Is, as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound ; 
 
 And ail is semblative a woman's part. t. n. act i. sc. 4>* 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : 
 If the ill spirit have so fair a house, 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. TEM. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than^gold. 
 
 A. Y. L. I. acti. sc. 3. 
 
 Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
 
 Lady, you are the crudest she alive, 
 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
 
 And leave the world no copy. T. N. act i. sc. 5. 
 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
 Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues. 
 
 love's lab. lost, act ii. sc. 1 
 12 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an iEthiop's ear ; 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
 
 rom. & jul. act i. sc. 4. 
 
 BEDLAM BEGGAR. 
 
 While I may 'scape, 
 
 I will preserve myself : and am bethought 
 
 To take the basest and the poorest shape, 
 
 That ever Penury, in contempt of man, 
 
 Brought near to beast. My face I'll grime with filth ; 
 
 Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots; 
 
 And with presented nakedness out-face 
 
 The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
 
 The, country gives me proof and precedent 
 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
 
 Strike, in their numb'd and mortified bare arms, 
 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms, 
 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, 
 
 Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometimes with prayers, 
 
 Inforce their charity. LEAR, act ii. sc.3. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 O, you gods ! think I, what need we have any friends, 
 if we should never have need of 'em ? They would most 
 resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep 
 th^eir sounds to themselves. Why, I have oft wish'd 
 myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We 
 are born to do benefits. And what better or properer 
 can we call our own, than the riches of our friends? 
 O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so many, like 
 brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en 
 made away ere't can be bora ! — Mine eyes cannot hold 
 out water. I drink to you. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS, act i. SC 5. 
 
 BLESSING. 
 
 , T'lay he live 
 
 Longer than I have time to tell his years! 
 13 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be! 
 And, when old Time shall lead him to his end, 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument! 
 
 hen. viii. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 BLUNTNESS. 
 
 ■ This is some fellow, 
 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
 
 A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb, 
 
 Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he! — 
 
 An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth : 
 
 An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. 
 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
 
 Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants, 
 
 That stretch their duties nicely. LEAR, act ii. sc. 
 
 BRAGGARTS. 
 • I know them, yea, 
 
 And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : 
 
 ScamMing, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
 
 That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, 
 
 Go antickly, and show an outward hideousness, 
 
 Arxl speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
 
 How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst ; 
 
 And this is all. much ado, act v. sc. 1. 
 
 What art thou r Have not I 
 
 An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? 
 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not 
 
 My dagger in my mouth. cymb, act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 
 He, only, in a general hdnest thought, 
 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 
 His life was gentle; and the elements 
 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 
 And say to all the world, This was a man! 
 
 jul. c^s. actx. sc. 5. 
 14 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 CALUMNY. 
 
 No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape : back-wounding calumny 
 The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong, 
 Can tie the gall up in the sland'rous tongue? 
 
 ME AS. FOR ME AS. act Hi. SC. 2. 
 
 Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not 
 escape calumny. hamlet, act hi. sc. 1. 
 
 CAPRICE. 
 
 ■ Men are April when they woo, December 
 
 when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but 
 the sky changes when they are wives: I will be more 
 jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his 
 hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more 
 new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than 
 a monkey. I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the 
 fountain ; and I will do that, when you are disposed to 
 be merry: I will laugh like a hyena, and that when thou 
 art inclined to sleep. A. Y. L. I. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 CAUTION. 
 Hear you me, Jessica: 
 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street, 
 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces; 
 
 But stop my house's ears; I mean my casements: 
 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 
 My sober house. merch. of ven. act ii. sc. 5. 
 
 Oh, Buckingham ! beware of yonder dog ; 
 
 Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites, 
 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death. 
 
 Have not to do with him ; beware of him. 
 
 Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him ; 
 
 And all their ministers attend on him. 
 
 rich. in. act i. sc. 3. 
 15 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, 
 And that craves wary walking. 
 
 Think him as a serpent's egg, 
 
 Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous ; 
 And kill him in the shell. jul. cjes. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 CEREMONY. 
 
 Nay, my lords, ceremony 
 
 Was but devis'd at first to set a gloss 
 
 On faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; 
 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS, act i. SC. 2. 
 
 CHALLENGE. 
 
 ■ Tell your nephew, 
 
 The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
 
 In praise of Henry Percy : By my hopes 
 
 (This present enterprise set off his head), 
 
 I do not think a braver gentleman, 
 
 More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive, 
 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
 
 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
 
 I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
 
 And so, I hear, he doth account me too. 
 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, 
 
 I am content, that he shall take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation ; 
 And will, to save the blood on either side, 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 
 
 hen. iv. p. I. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 CHANCE. 
 In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch, 
 To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both, 
 I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof, 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 16 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 
 To shoot another arrow that self way 
 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. M. v. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 CHARM DISSOLVED. 
 -The charm dissolves apace; 
 
 And as the morning steals upon the night, 
 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 
 Begin to chase th' ignorant fumes that mantle 
 
 Their clearer reason* tempest, act v. sc. 1. 
 
 CHASTITY. 
 • Were I under the terms of death, 
 
 Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, 
 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 
 That longing I've been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 
 My body up to shame, meas. for me as. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 My chastity's the jewel of our house, 
 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world 
 
 In me to lose. a. w. e. w. act iv. sc. Q. 
 
 The noble sister of Publicola, 
 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, 
 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
 
 And hangs on Dian's temple. cor. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 CHEERFULNESS. 
 - Let me play the fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish? merch, of ven. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 17 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Her Character. 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety : other women cloy 
 The appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry, 
 Where most she satisfies, ant. & cleop. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 CLEOPATRA'S SAILING DOWN THE RIVER CYDNUS. 
 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, 
 
 Burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
 
 Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
 
 The winds were love-sick with them : th'oars were silver ; 
 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 
 The water, which they beat, to follow faster, 
 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 
 It beggar'd all description; she did lie 
 
 In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
 
 O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see 
 
 The fancy out-work Nature ; on each side her 
 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 
 With diverse-colour' d fans, whose wind did seem 
 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 
 And what they undid, did. — 
 
 Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, 
 
 So many mermaids, tended her i'th'eyes, 
 
 And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
 
 A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle 
 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
 
 That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 
 Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
 
 Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, 
 
 Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, 
 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
 
 And made a gap in Nature. ibid. 
 
 CLEOPATRA'S SUPPOSED DEATH. 
 Death of one person can be paid but once ; 
 And that she has discharg'd. What thou would'st do, 
 
 18 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Is done unto thy hand ; the last she spake 
 
 Was, Antony ! most noble Antony ! 
 
 Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 
 The name of Antony; it was divided 
 
 Between her heart and lips: she render'd life, 
 
 Thy name so buried in her. ant. & cl. act iv. sc. 12. 
 
 COMMONWEALTH OF BEES. 
 ■ So work the honey bees ; 
 
 Creatures, that by a rule in nature teach 
 
 The art of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 
 They have a king, and officers of sorts ; 
 
 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; 
 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; 
 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
 
 To the tent-royal of their emperor; 
 
 Who, busy'd in his majesty, surveys 
 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold; 
 
 The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; m 
 
 The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
 
 Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; 
 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, 
 
 Deliv'ring o'er to executors pale 
 
 The lazy yawning drone. HEN. v. act i. sc. 
 
 COMPASSION. 
 O, I have suffer'd 
 
 With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel 
 
 (Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her) 
 
 Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 
 Against my very heart ! Poor souls! they perish'd. 
 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere 
 
 It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
 
 The freighting souls within her. temp, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 O, my dear father ! Restoration, hang 
 Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms that my two sisters 
 19 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Have in thy reverence made! 
 
 Had you not been their father, these white flakes 
 
 Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
 
 To be expos'd against the warring winds ? 
 
 To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? 
 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 
 Of quick, cross lightning ? To watch (poor perdu !) 
 
 With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 
 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
 
 Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father ! 
 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
 
 In short and musty straw ? Alack ! alack ! 
 
 Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once, 
 
 Had not concluded all. leak, act iv. sc. 7* 
 
 COMPLAINT. 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land ; 
 Methinks, I should not thus be led along, 
 Maird up in shame, with papers on my back ; 
 And followed with a rabble, that rejoice 
 To see my tears, and hear my deep-fetch'd groans. 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; 
 And, when I start, the cruel people laugh, 
 And bid me be advised, how I tread. 
 Ah ! Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ? 
 Trows't thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world, 
 Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun? 
 No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day ; 
 To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. 
 Sometime Til say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife; 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
 Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 
 That he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
 Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock 
 To every idle, rascal follower. 
 
 hen. vi. p. II. act ii. sc. 7. 
 
 Accursed and unquiet wrangling days ! 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld! 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 20 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And often up and down my sons were tost, 
 For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss : 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors 
 Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother, 
 Blood to blood, self 'gainst self. O, preposterous 
 And frantic outrage ! end thy damned spleen ; 
 Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 
 
 rich. in. act ii. sc. 
 
 CONCEALED LOVE. 
 ■ She never told her love, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, 
 
 Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought ; 
 
 And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 
 She sat, like Patience on a monument, 
 
 Smiling at Grief. twelfth night, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 CONCEITED MAN. 
 Our court, you know, is haunted 
 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
 A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
 
 That hath a mint of phrases in his brain; 
 One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
 A man of complements, whom right and wrong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny. 
 
 love's lab. lost, acti. sc. 1. 
 
 CONFIDENCE. 
 A thousand hearts are great within my bosom : 
 Advance our standards ; set upon our foes ! 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. 
 
 rich. in. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 CONFUSION OF MIND. 
 
 You have bereft me of all words, 
 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 And there is such confusion in my powers* 
 
 21 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
 Where every something, being blent together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy 
 Exprest and not exprest. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE, act Hi. SC. 2 
 
 CONJUGAL FIDELITY. 
 
 -Alas, Sir, 
 
 In what have I offended you? what cause 
 
 Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
 
 That thus you should proceed to put me off, 
 
 And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, 
 
 I've been to you a true and humble wife, 
 
 At all times to your will conformable, 
 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike; 
 
 Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, 
 
 As I saw it inclined. When was the hour, 
 
 I ever contradicted your desire, 
 
 Or made it not mine too ? Which of your friends 
 
 Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
 
 He were mine enemy ? What friend of mine, 
 
 That had to him deriv'd your anger, did J 
 
 Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
 
 He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind 
 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 
 
 Upward of twenty years ; and have been blest 
 
 With many children by you. If, in the course 
 
 And process of this time, you can report, 
 
 And prove it too, against mine honour aught, 
 
 My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 
 
 Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
 
 Turn me away, and let the foul'st contempt 
 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 
 To th' sharpest kind of justice, hen. viii. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 CONJURER. 
 They brought one Pinch ; a hungry lean-fac'd villain, 
 A meer anatomy, a mountebank, 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; 
 22 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch; 
 
 A living dead man. This pernicious slave, 
 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; 
 
 And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 
 And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, 
 
 Cries out, I was possest. com. of err. act v. sc. 1 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 — O, it is monstrous! monstrous] 
 
 Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; 
 The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced 
 The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i'th' ooze is bedded, tem. act hi. sc. 3. 
 
 What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? 
 Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; 
 And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 hen. vi. p. II. act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 Give me another horse! bind up my wounds! 
 Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ; I did but dream. — 
 
 coward Conscience! how dost thou afflict me ! — 
 The light burns blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
 Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What do I fear ? myself — there's none else by : 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here ? No ; — Yes ; I am : 
 
 Then fly — what! from myself? — Great reason — Why 
 
 Lest I revenge. — What ! myself on myself? 
 
 1 love myself Wherefore ? for any good, 
 
 That I myself have done unto myself ? 
 
 ! no : alas ! I rather hate myself 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 
 1 am a villain: — Yet I lie; I am not. 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well. — Fool, do not flatter. 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale ; 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain! 
 Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree — 
 23 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Murder — stern murder, in the dir'st degree ; — 
 
 All several sins — all us'd in each degree — 
 
 Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty ! — 
 
 I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me ; 
 
 And, if I die, no soul will pity me. — 
 
 Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself 
 
 Find in myself no pity to myself, rich. hi. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
 Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe. 
 
 ibid, act v. sc. 7* 
 
 CONSCIENCE STRUGGLING. 
 The colour of the king doth come and go, 
 Between his purpose and his conscience, 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles sent: 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
 
 john, act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 CONSENT OF A FATHER. 
 Methinks, a father 
 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
 
 That best becomes the table : Pray you, once more, 
 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 
 Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid 
 
 With age and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? 
 
 Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 
 
 Lies he not bed-rid? and, again, does nothing, 
 
 But what he did being childish ? win. TA. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 CONSIDERATION. 
 Consideration, like an angel, came 
 And whipt th' offending Adam out of him ; 
 Leaving his body as a paradise, 
 T'invelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 
 HEN. v. act i. sc. I, 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 I would have had thee there, and here again, 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there.— » 
 O constancy, be strong upon my side ! 
 24 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! 
 I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
 How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
 
 jul. ces. act ii. sc. 
 
 O, good lago! 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again? 
 
 Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven, 
 
 I know not how I lost him. — Here I kneel : — 
 
 If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 
 Either in discourse, or thought, or actual deed ; 
 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
 
 Delighted them in any other form ; 
 
 Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
 
 And ever will — though he do shake me off 
 
 To beggarly divorcement — love him dearly, 
 
 Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much; 
 
 And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
 
 But never taint my love. I cannot say — Whore; 
 
 It does abhor me, now I speak the word ; 
 
 To do the act that might the addition earn, 
 
 Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 Othello, act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 CONTEMPLATION. 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ; 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation, 
 
 rich. in. act Hi. sc.J. 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 ■ Verilv, 
 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 
 And range with humble livers in content, 
 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 
 And wear a golden sorrow. hen. viii. act ii. sc. 
 
 CONTENTION. 
 ■ Contention, like a horse 
 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose. 
 And bears down all before him. hen. iv. p. ii. act i. sc. 1 
 25 C 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 COUNSEL. 
 
 Men 
 
 Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
 Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it, 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
 Fetter strong madness with a silken thread, 
 Charm ache with air, and agony with words. 
 No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 To those that wring under the load of sorrow; 
 But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, 
 To be so moral, when he shall endure 
 The like himself: therefore give me no counsel; 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
 
 MUCH ADO, act V. SC. 1. 
 
 COUNTRY LASS. 
 
 This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever 
 
 Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does, or seems, 
 
 Rut smacks of something greater than herself ; 
 
 Too noble for this place. wint. tale, act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 COURAGE. 
 
 By how much unexpected, by so much 
 We must awake endeavour for defence; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion. JOHN, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 COURTIER. 
 
 In his youth 
 
 He had the wit, which I can well observe 
 To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honour : 
 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
 Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, 
 His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, 
 Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
 Exceptions bid him speak; and, at this time, 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him 
 He us'd as creatures of another place, 
 26 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 
 Making them proud of his humility, 
 In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man 
 Might be a copy to these younger times. 
 
 A. w. E. w. act i. sc. 2 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
 Write, till your ink be dry; and with your tears 
 Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line, 
 That may discover such integrity : — 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire lamenting elegies, 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
 With some sweet concert ; to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act hi. SC. 2. 
 
 COWARD. 
 
 : I know him a notorious liar ; 
 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward : 
 Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
 That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
 Look bleak in the cold wind. Full oft w r e see 
 Cold Wisdom waiting on superfluous Folly. 
 
 a. w. E. w. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 COWARDICE. 
 That which in mean men we entitle, patience, 
 Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 
 rich. II. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 COXCOMB. 
 He did comply with his dug before he sucked it. Thus 
 has he (and many more of the same breed, that, I know, 
 27 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 the drossy age dotes on,) only got the tune of the time, and 
 outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty collection, 
 which carries them through and through the most fond 
 and winnowed opinions ; and do but blow them to their 
 trial, the bubbles are out. hamlet, act v. sc. %> 
 
 CROSSES IN LOVE. 
 The course of true love never did run smooth ; 
 Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth ; 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 M. N. D. act i. sc. i. 
 
 CRUELTY. 
 
 ^ -And, gentle friends, 
 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
 
 Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
 
 Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds. 
 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
 
 Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
 
 And after seem to chide them. JUL. cms. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 DANGER. 
 ■ Danger knows full well, 
 
 That Caesar is more dangerous than he : 
 
 We were two lions littered in one day, 
 
 And I the elder and more terrible. ibid, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Send danger from the east unto the west, 
 So honour cross it from the north to south ; 
 And let them grapple. — O ! the blood more stirs; 
 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 
 
 hen. iv. P. I. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 A sceptre, snatch'dwith an unruly hand, 
 
 28 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Must be as boist'rously maintained as gain'd : 
 And he that stands upon a slippery place, 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up. 
 
 JOHN, act ill. sc. 4>c 
 
 DAY-BREAK. 
 The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day, 
 Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. 
 
 much ado, act v. sc. 3. 
 
 The silent hour steals on, 
 
 Asd flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
 
 rich. ill. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 ■ It were for me 
 
 To throw my sceptre at th' injurious gods ; 
 
 To tell them, that this world did equal theirs, 
 
 Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but naught ; 
 
 Patience is sottish ; and impatience does 
 
 Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin, 
 
 To rush into the secret house of death, 
 
 Ere death dare come to us? — How do you, women? 
 
 What, what ? good cheer ! Why, how now, Charmian ? 
 
 My noble girls! — Ah, women, women ! look, 
 
 Our lamp is spent, it's out : — Good Sirs, take heart : — 
 
 We'll bury him, and then, what's brave, what's noble, 
 
 Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, 
 
 And make death proud to take us. Come, away; 
 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
 
 ant. & cleop. act iv. sc. 13. 
 
 My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life ; Tis paltry to be Caesar ; 
 Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave, 
 A minister of her will ; And it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; 
 Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change ; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, 
 The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. ibid, act v. sc. 2. 
 
 29 
 
SHAKSPER1AN ANTHOLOGY. 
 I, in mine own woe charmed, 
 
 Could not find Death, where I did hear him groan ; 
 Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly monster, 
 Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we, 
 That draw his knives i'th'war. cymb. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel ; 
 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
 
 And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, 
 
 In undetermined differences of kings. JOHN, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Death ! death ! O amiable, lovely death ! 
 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 
 Arise forth from thy couch of lasting night, 
 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
 
 And put my eye-balls in thy vauity brows ; 
 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms ; 
 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, 
 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself : 
 
 Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smiPst, 
 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 
 O, come to me ! ibid, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 •Nothing in his life 
 
 Became him like the leaving it; he died 
 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd 
 
 As 'twere a careless trifle. macbeth, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 O, vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes, 
 
 In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
 
 Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 
 Against the mind ; the which he pricks and wounds 
 
 With many legions of strange fantasies : 
 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
 
 Confound themselves. JOHN, act v. sc. 7* 
 
 Cowards die many times before their deaths; 
 
 30 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; 
 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 
 Will come, when it will come. jul. cjes. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, 
 Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
 
 ibid, act ill. sc. 1. 
 
 DECEIT. 
 Ah ! that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, 
 And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice ! 
 
 rich. in. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 DECEPTION. 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil? In religion, 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
 Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 
 There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
 Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars; 
 Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? 
 And these assume but valour's excrement, 
 To render them redoubted. Look- on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight, 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 So are those crisped snaky golden locks, 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head, 
 The scull that bred them in the sepulchre. 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 To a most dang'rous sea ; the beauteous scart 
 31 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty : in a word, 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 
 To entrap the wisest. merch. of ven. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 -There's no art 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face : 
 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 
 An absolute trust. macbeth, acti. sc. 4. 
 
 DEER WOUNDED. 
 To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, 
 Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
 To the which place a poor sequestered stag, 
 That from the hunters' aim had ta en a hurt, 
 Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chace; and thus the hairy fool, 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. a. Y, x. I. ae$ it* sc. 1. 
 
 DEFORMITY. 
 Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
 She did corrupt frail Nature with some bribe 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
 To make an envious mountain on my back, 
 Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size; 
 To disproportion me in every part, 
 Like to a chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp, 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 And am I then a man to be belov'd? 
 O ; monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought ! 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 32 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, 
 
 Nor made to court an am'rous looking-glass ; 
 
 I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty. 
 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 
 I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature ; 
 
 Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up; 
 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 
 That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ; — 
 
 Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
 
 Have no delight to pass away the time, 
 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 
 And descant on mine own deformity ; 
 
 And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, 
 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — 
 
 I am determined to prove a villain, 
 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 
 rich. ill. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 DELAY. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quickest decrees 
 Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them. A. w. E. w. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 Come, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary. 
 
 rich. in. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 DEPARTING DISEASES. 
 Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health, 
 The fit is strongest: evils, that take leave, 
 On their departure most of all show evil. 
 
 john, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier 
 Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee 
 33 
 
SHAKSPERXAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
 
 Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
 
 Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
 
 In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
 
 To look that way thouwert. wint. ta. act in. sc. 2. 
 
 • If thou didst but consent 
 
 To this most cruel act, do but despair ; 
 
 And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb 
 
 Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
 
 A beam to hang thee on: or, would'st thou drown thyself, 
 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, 
 
 And it shall be as all the ocean, 
 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. JOHN, act iv. sc.3. 
 
 Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 Five have I slain to-day instead of him : — 
 A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 
 
 rich. in. act v. sc. 4. 
 
 DESPERATION. 
 ■ I will to-morrow, 
 
 (Betimes I will) unto the weird sisters: 
 
 More shall they speak ; for now Pm bent to know, 
 
 By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good 
 
 All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
 
 Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er: 
 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned. 
 
 macbeth, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord; 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea ; 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sov'reignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness? think of it: 
 34 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 
 And hears it roar beneath. hamlet, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 DESPONDENCE. 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up : 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wre«k of all my friends, and this man's threats, 
 To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me; 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
 Let liberty make use of; space enough 
 Have I in such a prison. tempest, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 There's nothing in this world can make me joy : 
 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, 
 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, 
 
 That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness. 
 
 john, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 I have liv'd long enough ; my way of life 
 
 Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf : 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 
 I must not look to have; but, in their stead, 
 
 Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 
 
 MACBETH, act V. SC. 3. 
 
 O Sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
 
 Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
 
 Do we shake hands. — All come to this? — The hearts 
 
 That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
 
 Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 
 On blossoming Csesar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
 
 That over-topp'd them all. ant. & cl. act iv. sc. 10. 
 
 DETESTATION OF THE VULGAR. 
 You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate 
 35 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize. 
 
 As the dead carcases of unburied men, 
 
 That do corrupt my air, J banish you ; 
 
 And here remain with your uncertainty! 
 
 Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
 
 Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
 
 Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
 
 To banish your defenders ; till, at length, 
 
 Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, 
 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 
 Still your own foes deliver you, as most 
 
 Abated captives, to some nation 
 
 That won you without blows ! cor. act m. sc. 
 
 DIGNITY. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company, 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
 But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 
 That men would tell their children, "This is he!" 
 Others would say, " Where ? which is Bolingbroke ?" 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
 And dress'd myself in such humility, 
 That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
 Ne'er seen ; but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
 Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
 And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits, 
 Soon kindled, and soon burn'd; carded his state; 
 Mingled his royalty with capering fools; 
 Had his great name profaned with their scorns; 
 36 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And gave his countenance, against his name, 
 
 To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
 
 Of every beardless vain comparative : 
 
 Grew a companion to the common streets, 
 
 Enfeoff d himself to popularity; 
 
 That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 
 
 They surfeited with honey, and began 
 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness; whereof a little 
 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 
 So, when he had occasion to be seen, 
 
 He was but, a~s the cuckoo is in June, 
 
 Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes, 
 
 As, sick and blunted with community, 
 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze, 
 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty, 
 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes. 
 
 But rather drows'd, and hung their eye-lids down, 
 
 Slept in his face, and render' d such aspect 
 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 
 
 Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 DISCONTENT. 
 I know a discontented gentleman, 
 Whose humble means match not his haughty mind : 
 Gold were as good as twenty orators, 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 
 
 rich. in. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 DISEASES OF THE MIND. 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart? Macbeth, act v. sc. 3. 
 
 DISGUISE. 
 Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
 Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
 
 twelfth night, act ii. sc. 2. 
 37 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 DISLIKE. 
 
 At first 
 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favour; 
 
 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n ; 
 
 Extended or contracted all proportions, 
 
 To a most hideous object: Thence it came, 
 
 That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, 
 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 
 The dust that did offend it. A. w. E. w. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 DISSIMULATION. 
 
 She's but the sign and semblance of her honour: — 
 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here: 
 
 O, what authority and show of truth 
 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
 
 Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, 
 
 To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear, 
 
 All you that see her, that she were a maid, 
 
 By these exterior shows? But she is none: 
 
 She knows the heat of a luxurious bed : 
 
 Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. MU. AD. act \v.scA. 
 
 W T hy, I can smile, and murder while I smile ; 
 
 And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart; 
 
 And wet my cheeks with artificial tears ; 
 
 And frame my face to all occasions. 
 
 I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; 
 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
 
 I'll play the orator as well as Nestor; 
 
 Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, 
 
 And, like a Sinon, take another Troy: 
 
 I can add colours to the cameleon ; 
 
 Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages; 
 
 And set the murderous Machiav^l to school. 
 
 Can 1 do this, and cannot get a crown? 
 
 henry vi. p. III. act iii. sc. 2. 
 38 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 DISTRACTION. 
 
 As the wretch, whose fever-weaken 'd joints, 
 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
 
 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
 
 Out of his keeper's arms; e'en so my limbs, 
 
 Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, 
 
 Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! 
 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, 
 
 Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif! 
 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, 
 
 Which princes, flush'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 
 Now bind my brows with iron, and approach 
 
 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, 
 
 To frown upon tb' enrag'd Northumberland ! 
 
 Let heaven kiss earth ! Now let not Nature's hand 
 
 Keep the wild flood confin'd ! let order die ! 
 
 And let this world no longer be a stage 
 
 To feed contention in a lingering act; 
 
 But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
 
 Reign in all bosoms; that, each heart being set 
 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
 
 And darkness be the burier of the dead! 
 
 HENRY IV. P. II. ad i. SC. 1. 
 DOOMSDAY. 
 
 Our revels now are ended : these our actors,, 
 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 
 Are melted into air, into thin air : 
 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 
 The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 
 Leave not a rack behind ! We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 
 Is rounded with a sleep. tempest, act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 DOUBT. 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
 39 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Hearing applause and universal shout, 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in doubt 
 Whether those peals of praise be his or no : 
 So, thrice fair lady ! stand I, even so ; 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirmed, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 merch, of ven. act iii. sc. 2 
 
 - The wound of peace is surety, 
 
 Surety secure : but modest doubt is caird 
 
 The beacon of the wise} the tent that searches 
 
 To the bottom of the worst, troil. & cres. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 DOVER CLIFF. 
 How fearful 
 
 And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 
 The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half-way down 
 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade ! 
 
 Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: 
 
 The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
 
 Appear like mice ; and yon' tall anchoring bark, 
 
 Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
 
 Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge, 
 
 That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
 
 Cannot be heard so high: — I'll look no more; 
 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 
 Topple down headlong! LEAR, act iv. at. 6. 
 
 DREAMS. 
 O, then, I see Queen Mab has been with you. 
 She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes, 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spiders web ; 
 The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : 
 40 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairies , coach-makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. 
 Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 
 And sometimes comes she with a tythe-pig's tail, 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
 Then dreams he of another benefice : 
 Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
 And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
 That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
 Making them women of good carriage. 
 This, this is she — 
 
 Thus I talk of dreams, 
 
 Which are the children of an idle brain, 
 Begot of nothing but vain phantasy; 
 Which is as thin of substance as the air ; 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
 And, being auger'd, puffs away from thence, 
 Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 
 
 rom. & jul. act i. sc. 4. 
 41 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 DRUNKARDS. 
 -They were red-hot with drinking; 
 
 So full of valour, that they smote the air 
 
 For breathing in their faces; beat the ground 
 
 For kissing of their feet : yet always bending 
 
 Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, 
 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 
 Advanced their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, 
 
 As they smelt music. tempest, act iv. $c. 1. 
 
 DRUNKENNESS. 
 
 — Drunk! and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? 
 swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — 
 O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by, let us call thee — devil ! 
 
 — O that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to 
 steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, revel, 
 pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! 
 
 othello, act ii. $c. 3. 
 
 DUELLING. 
 Your words have took such pains, as if they laboured 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling 
 Upon the head of valour; which, indeed, 
 Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 
 When sects and factions were but newly born : 
 He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer 
 The worst that man can breathe ; and make his wrongs 
 His outsides; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 To bring it into danger. 
 If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill ! 
 
 timon of Athens, act iii. sc. 5. 
 
 DUTY. 
 — — Pray now, no more : my mother, 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
 When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, 
 As you have done; that's what I can; induc'd 
 42 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As you have been; that's for my country: 
 
 He, that has but effected his good-will, 
 
 Hath overtaken mine act. cor. act i. sc. 11. 
 
 DYING. 
 He snuTd me iu the face, gave me his hand, 
 And, with a feeble gripe, says, " Dear, my lord, 
 " Commend my service to my sovereign/' 
 So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
 He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips ; 
 And, so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd 
 A testament of noble-ending love. 
 The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 
 Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd ■ 
 But I had not so much of man in me, 
 But all my mother came into mine eyes, 
 And gave me up to tears. henry v. act iv* sc. 12 
 
 DYING INJUNCTIONS. 
 
 — They say, the tongues of dying men 
 
 Inforce attention, like deep harmony: 
 
 Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain ; 
 
 For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. 
 
 He, that no more must say, is listen'd more 
 Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; 
 
 More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before : 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 As the last taste of sweets is sweetest last ; 
 Writ in remembrance, more than things long past. 
 
 rich. II. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 EARLY RISING. 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins by times. 
 
 ant. & cleo. act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 EMBARRASSMENT. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 43 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Throttle their practised accent in their fears, 
 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
 
 Not paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet, 
 
 Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ; 
 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 
 I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
 
 Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
 
 Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 
 
 In least, speaks most to my capacity. 
 
 M. N. D. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 That pale, that white-fac'd shore, 
 
 Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
 
 And coops from other lands her islanders; 
 
 E'en till that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
 
 That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
 
 And confident from foreign purposes, 
 
 E'en till that utmost corner of the west 
 
 Salute thee for her king. JOHN, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 This England never did, (nor never shall,) 
 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 
 Now these her princes are come home again, 
 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
 
 And we shall shock them ! — Nought shall make us rue, 
 
 If England to itself do rest but true. ibid, act v. sc. f\ 
 
 This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-Paradise ; 
 This fortress, built by Nature for herself, 
 Against infection, and the hand of war: 
 This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
 Against the envy of less happier lands ; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 44 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, 
 Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
 (For christian service, and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son : 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world, 
 Is now leas' d out (I die pronouncing it,) 
 Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : 
 England bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
 
 rich. 11. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 
 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoois : 
 As a long-parted mother with her child 
 Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting ; 
 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 
 And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
 Feed not thy sov'reign's foe, my gentle earth, 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense : 
 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
 iVnd heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way ; 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, 
 Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
 Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : 
 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
 Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; 
 W T hose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 Throw death upon thy sov'reign's enemies. 
 Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; 
 This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
 Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms. 
 
 ibid, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 O England ! model to thine inward greatness, 
 45 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
 
 What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, 
 
 Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
 
 henry v. act ii. chorus. 
 
 ENGLISH ARMY. 
 
 All th' unsettled humours of the land, — 
 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
 
 JOHN, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 Yon island carrions, desp'rate of their bones, 
 
 Ill-favour'dly become the morning field : 
 
 Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
 
 Big Mars seems bankrnpt in their beggar'd host, 
 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 
 
 The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
 
 With torch-staves in their hand : and their poor jades 
 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips, 
 
 The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes ; 
 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
 
 Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless ; 
 
 And their executors, the knavish crows, 
 
 Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. 
 
 henry v. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 ENVY. 
 My heart laments, that virtue cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation. jul. CiES. act ii. sc, 3. 
 
 EQUALITY— The natural rights of it 
 Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a colossus ; and we petty men 
 
 46 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 
 Brutus, and Caesar : What should be in that Caesar ? 
 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 
 Weigh them, 'tis as heavy; conjure with them, 
 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 
 
 Now, in the name of all the gods at once, 
 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 
 That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd : 
 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 
 But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
 
 That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 
 
 Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 
 O ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 
 There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
 
 Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
 
 As easily as a king. julitjs cjlsar, act i. $c. 
 
 ERROR. 
 
 Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
 
 O hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 
 The things that are not ? O error, soon conceived, 
 
 Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, 
 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 
 
 ibid, act v. sc. 
 
 EULOGIUM ON HOTSPUR. 
 
 — i Brave Percy : Fare thee well ! 
 
 Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
 When that this body did contain a spirit. 
 A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
 But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 47 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead, 
 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. • 
 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 
 I should not make so great a show of zeal : — 
 
 But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
 
 And, e'en in thy behalf, Til thank myself 
 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — 
 
 HENRY IV. P. I. act V. SC. 1. 
 
 EVENING. 
 The weary sun hath made a golden set, 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. 
 
 rich. ill. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 EXECRATION. 
 The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul ! 
 Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ! 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
 Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
 Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature, and the son of hell ! 
 Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb ! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
 
 Thou rag of honour, thou detested — 
 
 rich. ill. act i. sc. 3* 
 
 Hear, Nature, hear! 
 
 Dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if 
 Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility ! 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase; 
 And from her derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 
 Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, 
 48 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! 
 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
 
 With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
 
 Turn all her mother's pains and benefits, 
 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 
 How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 
 To have a thankless child! LEAR, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall, 
 That gird lest in those wolves ! dive in the earth, 
 And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incontinent ; 
 Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools, 
 Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
 And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
 Convert o' th' instant green Virginity ! 
 Do't in your parents' eyes ! Bankrupts, hold fast ; 
 Rather than render back, out with your knives, 
 And cut your trusters' throats ! Bound servants, steal I 
 Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, 
 And pill by law ! Maid, to thy master's bed ; 
 Thy mistress is i' th' brothel ! Son of sixteen, 
 Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire ; 
 With it beat out his brains ! Fear, and piety, 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs and laws, 
 Decline to your confounding contraries ! 
 And yet confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to men, 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! Thou cold sciatica, 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
 As lamely as their manners ! Lust and liberty 
 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ; 
 That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
 And drown themselves in riot ! Itches, blains, 
 Sow all th' Athenian bosoms ; and their crop 
 Be general leprosy ! Breath infect breath ; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison ! Nothing I'll bear from thee, 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
 49 D 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying banns ! 
 Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
 Th/ unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
 The gods confound (hear me, ye good gods all,) 
 Th' Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
 And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
 To the whole race of mankind, high, and low ! 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS, ad iv. $C. 1. 
 
 Consumptions sow 
 
 In hollow bones of man, strike their sharp shins, 
 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
 
 That he may never more false title plead, 
 
 Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the f lamen, 
 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
 
 And not believes himself : down with the nose, 
 
 Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
 
 Of him, that his particular to foresee, 
 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate ruffians bald ; 
 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 
 Derive some pain from you. ibid, act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances : 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 
 (For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.) 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine ; 
 And all for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
 Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 Shylock, we would have monies ; you say so ; 
 You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
 And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur, 
 Over your threshold ; money is your suit. 
 What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
 Hath a dog money? is it possible 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
 50 
 
SHAKSPER1AN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 With 'bated breath, and whisp'ring humbleness 
 Say this, — 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 
 You spurn'd me such a day; another time 
 You caird me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much monies ? 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. ad i. SC. 3. 
 
 EXULTATION. 
 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait ; 
 He rises on his toe : that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 troil. & cres. act iv. sc. 5. 
 
 FAIRIES— Address to, 
 Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves; 
 And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
 W T hen he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that 
 By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
 Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight n>ush rooms ; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
 (Weak masters though ye be,) 1 have bedimm'd 
 The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
 Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, 
 Have wak'd their sleepers ; op'd and let them forth 
 By my so potent art. tempest, act v. sc. 1. 
 
 FAIRIES' EMPLOYMENT. 
 Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; 
 Feed him with apricots and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
 The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
 51 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, 
 To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes. 
 
 mid. night's dr. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 FAIRIES' JEALOUSY. 
 These are the forgeries of jealousy ; 
 And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 Or on the beached margent of the sea, 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast distirrb'd our sport. 
 Therefor^ the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land, 
 Have every pelting river made so proud, 
 That they have overborne their continents : 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted, ere its youth attain'd a beard : 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock;, 
 The nine-men's-morris is fill'd up with mud ; 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 
 For lacjt of tread, are undistinguishable : 
 The human mortals want their winter here ; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest:- — 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound ; 
 And thorough this distemperature, we see 
 The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; 
 And on old Hyems'chin, and icy crown, 
 An od'rous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer, 
 The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
 Vheir wonted liveries ; and th' amazed world, 
 $y their increase, now knows not which is which : 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And this same progeny of evil comes 
 
 From our debate, from our dissension ; 
 
 We are their parents and original. M. N. D. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 ■ Two beggars told me, 
 
 I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie, 
 
 That have afflictions on them ; knowing 'tis 
 
 A punishment, or trial? Yes: no wonder, 
 
 When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness 
 
 Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
 
 Is worse in kings, than beggars. cymb. act iii. sc. 
 
 FATHER'S LAMENTATION. 
 • Doth not every earthly thing 
 
 Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny 
 
 The story that is printed in her blood?— 
 
 Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
 
 For, did I think thou would'st not quickly die, 
 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, 
 
 Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
 
 Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? 
 
 Chid I for that at frugal Nature's frame ? 
 
 O, one too much by thee. Why had I one? 
 
 Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? 
 
 Why had I not, with charitable hand, 
 
 Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
 
 Who smeared thus, and niir'd with infamy, 
 
 I might have said, No part of it is mine; 
 
 This shame derives itself from unknown loins? 
 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, 
 
 And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much, 
 
 That I myself was to myself not mine, 
 
 Valuing of her ; why, she — -O, she is fallen 
 
 Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea 
 
 Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; 
 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 
 To her foul tainted flesh! much ado, act iv. sc 1. 
 
 FAULTS. 
 - 1 must not think, these are 
 
 53 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Evils enough to darken all his goodness: 
 
 His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, 
 
 More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary, 
 
 Rather than purchased ; what he cannot change, 
 
 Than what he chooses. ant. & cleop. act i. $c. 4. 
 
 FAVOURITES. 
 
 Bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 
 Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
 Forbid the sun to enter ; — like to favourites 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it. 
 
 much ado, act iii. $c. 1. 
 
 FEAR. 
 Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not : 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, 
 As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music : 
 Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
 While they behold a greater than themselves ; 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
 Than what 1 fear; for always I am Ceesar. 
 
 jul. cjes. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 FEASTING. 
 
 The veins unfuTd, our blood is cold ; and then 
 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 
 To give, or to forgive ; but when we have stuf Pd 
 
 These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood 
 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 
 Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore Til watch him 
 
 Till he be dieted to my request. 
 
 CORIOLANUS, act V. SC. 1. 
 
 54 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 FEMALE FRIENDSHIP. 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — oh! and is all forgot? 
 All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Created with our needles both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
 But yet an union in partition ; 
 Two lovely berries, moulded on one stem ; 
 So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart : 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
 And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly ; 
 Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 M. N. d. act. iii. sc. I. 
 
 I was too young that time to value her, 
 But now I know her : if she be a traitor, 
 Why so am I : we still have slept together, 
 Rose at an instant, learn'd, played, eat together ; 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Still we went coupled and inseparable. 
 
 a.y.l. I. act* I sc. 3, 
 
 FEMALE PERFECTION. 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? 
 If zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? 
 55 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 
 Is the young Dauphin, every way complete. 
 
 john, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 FICKLENESS OF THE VULGAR. 
 An habitation giddy and unsure 
 Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond many ! with what loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
 Before he was what thou would'st have him be ! 
 And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
 That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
 
 henry iv. p. ii. act. ii. sc. 6. 
 
 FICTION. 
 Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous, that this Player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
 That, from her working, all his visage wann'd ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting, 
 With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing ! 
 For Hecuba ! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 That he should weep for her? What would he do, 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
 That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
 Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculty of eyes and ears. 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
 Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
 56 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Tweaks me by th'nose? gives me the lie i'th' throat, 
 
 As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Why, I should take it: for it cannot be, 
 
 But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall, 
 
 To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, 
 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 
 With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain I 
 
 Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, 
 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, 
 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
 
 And fall a cursing, like a very drab, 
 
 A scullion ! 
 
 Fye upon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I've heard < 
 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, 
 
 Have, by the very cunning of the scene, 
 
 Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 
 With most miraculous organ. FJ1 have these players 
 
 Play something like the murder of my father, 
 
 Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; 
 
 I'll tent him to the quick: if he do blench, 
 
 I know my course. This spirit, that^I have seen, 
 
 May be the devil; and the devil hath power 
 
 To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps 
 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 
 As he is very potent with such spirits, 
 
 Abuses me to damn me. Fll have grounds 
 
 More relative than this: The play's the thing, 
 
 Wherein Fll catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 hamlet, act ii. sc. 2 
 
 FIDELITY. 
 If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood, 
 Call me before th' exactest auditors, 
 And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, 
 When all our offices have been oppressed 
 With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept 
 57 D 3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 With drunken spilth of wine; when every room 
 Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy; 
 I have retired me to a wasteful cock, 
 And set mine eyes at flow. tim. of ath. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 FLATTERY. 
 
 These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, 
 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men ; 
 
 And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
 
 Into the lane of children. Be not fond, 
 
 To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, 
 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 
 With that which melteth fools ; I mean, sweet words, 
 
 Low-crooked curtesies, and base spaniel fawning. 
 
 Thy brother by decree is banished : 
 
 If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
 
 I spurn thee, like a cur, out of my way. 
 
 Know, Caesar doth not wrong ; nor without cause 
 
 Will he be satisfied. jul. c^:s. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 Such smiling rogues as these, 
 
 Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain, 
 
 Which are too intrinse f unloose ; smooth ev'ry passion 
 
 That in the natures of their lords rebels ; 
 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods $ 
 
 Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
 
 With every gale and vary of their masters ; 
 
 Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. 
 
 leak, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, 
 Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops : 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,— 
 Not, when my father York and Edward wept, 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, 
 When black- fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him : 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 
 Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
 And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
 Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time, 
 58 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; 
 And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 
 Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. 
 I never su'd to friend, nor enemy; 
 My tongue could never learn sweet soothing words ; 
 But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. 
 
 rich. ill. act i. sc.2. 
 
 Ha! Goneril! — with a white beard! — They flatter'd me 
 like a dog, and told me, I had white hairs in my beard, 
 ere the black ones were there. To say Ay, and No, to 
 every thing I said ! — Ay and No too was no good divinity. 
 When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to 
 make me chatter ; when the thunder would not peace at 
 my bidding ; there I found them, there I smelt them out. 
 Go to, they are not men o' their words: they told me I 
 was every thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 
 
 lear, act iv. $c. 7. 
 
 FLEET SETTING SAIL. 
 
 Suppose, that you have seen 
 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 
 Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 
 
 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. 
 
 Play with your fancies; and in them behold, 
 
 Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: 
 
 Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
 
 To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails, 
 
 Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind, 
 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea, 
 
 Breasting the lofty surge. henry v. act iii. chorus. 
 
 FLOWERY BANK. 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
 Luird in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
 59 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. 
 
 m. n. d. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 FONDNESS OF A MOTHER. 
 If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, 
 Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, 
 Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, 
 Patched with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content ; 
 For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
 Of Nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown rose. JOHN, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 FOOL-HARDINESS. 
 Being scarce made up, 
 
 I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
 
 Of roaring terrors; for th' effect of judgment 
 
 Is oft the cause of fear. cymb. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 A FOOL'S LIBERTY OF SPEECH. 
 I must have liberty 
 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 
 To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 
 They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? 
 
 The why is plain as way to parish church : 
 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd, 
 
 E'en by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
 
 Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 
 Cleanse the foul body of th* infected world, 
 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
 
 A. y. L. I. act ii. sc.7. 
 6o 
 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 FOP DESCRIBED. 
 But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new-reap'd, 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
 
 He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; 
 
 Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 
 Took it in snuff : — and still he smil'd, and talk'd ; 
 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 
 He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 
 He question'd me ; amongst the rest demanded 
 
 My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, 
 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 
 To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 
 
 He should, or he should not : — for he made me mad, 
 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 
 And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, 
 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark I) 
 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 
 Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 
 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 
 This villainous saltpetre should be digged 
 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
 
 So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 
 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 
 HENRY IV. P. I. act 1. SC. 3 
 
 FORTITUDE. 
 You were us'd 
 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
 6l 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 That common chances common men could bear ; 
 That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
 Showed mastership in floating : Fortune's blows, 
 When most struck home, being gentle-wounded, craves 
 A noble cunning. cor. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 In the reproof of chance 
 
 Lies the true proof of men : The sea being smooth, 
 
 How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
 
 Upon her patient breast, making their way 
 
 With those of nobler bulk ! 
 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 
 The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, 
 
 Bounding between the two moist elements, 
 
 Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat, 
 
 Wliose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
 
 Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbour fled, 
 
 Or made a toast for- Neptune. Even so 
 
 Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide 
 
 In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and brightness, 
 
 The herd hath more annoyance by the brize, 
 
 Than by the tiger: but when the splitting wind 
 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 
 
 And flies fled under shade, Why, then, the king of courage. 
 
 As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathise, 
 
 And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key, 
 
 Returns to chiding fortune, troil. & cres. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 
 Who dares do more, is none. MACBETH, act i. sc. 7. 
 
 FORTUNE. 
 Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you ; 
 For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
 To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
 An age of poverty ; from which ling'ring penance 
 Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. act iv. SC 1. 
 
 62 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Will Fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach ;■ — such are the rich, 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 
 henry iv. p. ii. act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Hamlet's 'profession of it to Horatio, 
 Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 
 Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flatter'd? 
 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ? 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 
 And could of men distinguish her election, 
 
 She hath seal'd thee for herself ; for thou hast been 
 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
 
 A man, that Fortune's buffets and rewards 
 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and blest are those, 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 
 That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger, 
 
 To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In my heart's core, aye, in my heart of heart, 
 
 As I do thee. hamlet, act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP IN LOVE. 
 Friendship is constant in all other things, 
 Save in the office and affairs of love ; 
 Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
 Let every eye negociate for itself, 
 And trust no agent: beauty is a witch, 
 Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 
 
 much ado, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 63 
 
SHARSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 FRUITION, 
 
 — M Who riseth from a feast, 
 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down ? 
 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 
 His tedious measures with th'unbated fire 
 
 That he did pace them first ? All things that are, 
 
 Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
 
 How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
 
 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
 
 Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. act ii. SC. 
 
 FUNERAL. 
 Lay her i'th' earth ; — 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 
 May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 
 A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
 
 When thou liest howling. hamlet, act v. sc. 2. 
 
 FUNERAL DIRGE. 
 Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th'sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 Arv. Fear no more the frown o'th' great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak : 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
 Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
 Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Arv. Thou hast finished joy and moan : 
 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 64 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Guid. No exorciser harm thee ! 
 Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
 Guid. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
 Arv. Nothing ill come n£ar thee ! 
 Both, Quiet consummation have ; 
 And renowned be thy grave. 
 
 cymb. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 FURY. 
 
 Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be furious, 
 Is, to be frighted out of fear : and, in that mood, 
 The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 
 A diminution in our captain's brain 
 Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, 
 It eats the sword it fights with. 
 
 ant. & cleo. act iii. $c. 11. 
 
 GARLANDS FOR OLD MEN. 
 Reverend sirs, 
 
 For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming, and savour, all the winter long : 
 Grace, and remembrance, be unto you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing ! 
 
 wint. tale, act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 GARLANDS FOR MIDDLE AGE. 
 ■ Here's flowers for you ; 
 
 Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram ; 
 The marigold, that goes to bed with th' sun, 
 And with him rises, weeping : These are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
 To men of middle age. ibid. 
 
 GARLANDS FOR YOUTH. 
 Now, my fairest friend, 
 
 I would I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might 
 Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ; 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing: — O Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, 
 65 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, 
 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, 
 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 
 Bright Phoebus in his strength (a malady 
 
 Most incident to maids); bold oxlips, and 
 
 The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
 
 The flower-de-lis being one ! O, these I lack 
 
 To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend, 
 
 To strew him o'er and o'er. wint. tal. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 GIFTS FROM A LOVER. 
 ■ Sooth, when I was young, 
 
 And handed love, as you do, I was wont 
 
 To load my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd 
 
 The pedlar's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 
 To her acceptance ; you have let him go, 
 
 And nothing marted with him : If your lass 
 
 Interpretation should abuse ; and call this, 
 
 Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited 
 
 For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
 
 Of happy holding her. IBID. 
 
 GLORY. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water, 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. 
 
 hen. vi. p. l. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 GOLD. 
 ■ 'Tis gold 
 
 Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 
 Diana's rangers, false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer ; and 'tis gold, 
 Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief ; 
 Nay, sometimes, hangs both thief and true man : What 
 Can it not do, and undo ? cymb. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 When gold becomes her object! 
 66 
 
 How quickly Nature falls into revolt, 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, 
 
 Their bones with industry; 
 
 For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 
 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 
 Their sons with arts, aud martial exercises : 
 
 When, like the bee, tolling from every flower, 
 
 The virtuous sweets ; 
 
 Our thighs are pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, 
 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, 
 
 Are murder'd for our pains. hen. iv. p.i. actxi. se.4. 
 
 GOOD DEEDS. 
 That light we see, is burning in my hall. 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 MERCH. OFVEN. act V. $C. 1. 
 
 A GOOD HEART. 
 A speaker is but a prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. — 
 A good leg will fall ; a straight back will stoop ; a black 
 beard will turn white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair 
 face will wither ; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good 
 heart, Kate, is the sun and moon ; or, rather, the sun, and 
 not the moon ; for it shines bright, and never changes, 
 but keeps his course truly. hen. v. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 GOOD WIFE. 
 
 Go thy ways, Kate : 
 
 That man i' th' world who shall report he has 
 
 A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, 
 
 For speaking false in that : Thou art alone, 
 
 (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,-*— 
 
 Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts 
 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
 
 The queen of earthly queens : — She's noble born ; 
 
 And, like her true nobility, she has 
 
 Carried herself towards me. hen. viii. act ii. $c. 7* 
 
 67 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 I have five hundred crowns, 
 
 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. 
 Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in corners thrown ; 
 Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
 Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
 All this I give you : Let me be your servant. 
 
 A. y. l. i. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
 But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
 
 hen. vi. p. ii. act ii. sc.l. 
 
 GRAVITY. 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond ; 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be drest in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 
 As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
 And, when I ope my hps, let no dog bark! 
 O, my Antonio, I do know of those, 
 That therefore only are reputed wise, 
 For saying nothing ; who, I'm very sure, 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 
 Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. act i. SC. U 
 
 GREATNESS. 
 Great men have reaching hands : oft have I struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 hen. vi. p. ii. activ. sc.7* 
 
 Tis certain, greatness, once falFn out with fortune, 
 Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is, 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, 
 As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, 
 68 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer ; 
 
 And not n man, for being simply man, 
 
 Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours 
 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favour, 
 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
 
 Which, when they fall (as being slippery standers), 
 
 The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 
 Die in the fall. troil. & cres. act if I - sc. 2. 
 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting, 
 
 Than greatness going off. ant. & cleop. act iv. sc. 11. 
 
 GRECIAN YOUTHS. 
 
 The Grecian youths are full of subtle quality; 
 
 They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature flowing, 
 
 And swelling o'er with arts and exercise; 
 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person. 
 
 Alas ! a kind of godly jealousy 
 
 (Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) 
 
 Makes me afeard. troil. & cres. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 GRIEF. 
 
 Like the lily, 
 
 That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, 
 
 Til hang my head, and perish, hen. viii. act Hi. sc. I. 
 
 1 pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, 
 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
 Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
 And bid him speak of patience ; 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, 
 And let it answer every straiu for strain ; 
 As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
 In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard ; 
 Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he should groan ; 
 69 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune drunk 
 
 With caudle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
 
 And I of him will gather patience, much ado, act v. sc.l. 
 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
 To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
 Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great, 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 
 John, act iii. $c. 1. 
 
 Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 
 Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
 
 Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 
 Fare you well : had you such loss as I, 
 
 I could give better comfort than you do. ibid, act iii. &c. 4. 
 
 Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, 
 
 Which show like grief itself, but are not so : 
 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
 
 Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
 
 Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, 
 
 Distinguish form. rich. II. act ii. $c. 2, 
 
 Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems, 
 Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
 Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 
 Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
 That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem; 
 For they are actions that a man might play: 
 But I have that within, which passeth show; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 hamlet, act i. sc. 2. 
 70 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, 
 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, 
 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 
 What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, 
 
 Patience her injury a mocking makes. 
 
 The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief 
 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 othello, act i. sc.3. 
 
 GRIEF.— Marks of, 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? 
 Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
 W T hat means that hand upon that breast of thine ? 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
 Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? 
 
 john, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 GUILT. 
 
 So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 
 It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt. HAML. act iv. sc. 5. 
 
 GUILTY COUNTENANCE. 
 Upon the eye-balls murd'rous tyranny 
 Sits, in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
 
 hen. vi. P. II. actiiu sc.2. 
 
 HATRED. 
 Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep ; 
 And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
 
 ibid, act iii. sc. 1 
 
 • Nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
 
 Being naked, sick ; nor fane, nor Capitol, 
 The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
 At home, upon my brother's guard, even there 
 Against the hospitable canon, would I 
 Wash my fierce hand in his heart. cor. act i. sc, 10. 
 71 
 
SHAKSPER1AN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 HECTOR FIGHTING. 
 I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, 
 Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 
 Though ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, 
 As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements, 
 When thou hast hung thy advanc'd sword i'th'air, 
 Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
 That I have said unto my standers-by, 
 Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! 
 And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, 
 When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, 
 Like an Olympian wrestling, troil. & cres. act iv. sc. 9. 
 
 HENRY V.— Described by his Father. 
 ■ He is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 
 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 
 Open as day for melting charity: 
 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint ; 
 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 
 When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth: 
 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope ; 
 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 
 Confound themselves with working. 
 
 hen. iv. p. ii. act iv* sc. 4. 
 
 HENRY V.— Defence of himself. 
 Heaven forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
 Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
 And, in the closing of some glorious day, 
 Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ; 
 When I will wear a garment all of blood, 
 And stain my favours in a bloody mask, 
 Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
 That this same child of honour and renown, 
 72 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
 And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet : 
 For every honour sitting on his helm, 
 Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
 My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
 That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
 His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
 Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
 T'engross up glorious deeds on my behalf : 
 And I will call him to so strict account, 
 That he shall render every glory up, 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
 Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
 This, in the name of God, I promise here : 
 The which if he be pleas' d I shall perform, 
 I do beseech your majesty^ may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : 
 If not, the end of life cancels all bonds; 
 And I will die a thousand thousand deaths, 
 Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
 
 HEN. iv. p. i. act. iii. sc. 2 
 
 HENRY V.— Character. 
 Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
 You would desire, the king were made a prelate: 
 Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
 You'd say, it hath been all in all his study. 
 List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 A fearful battle render'd you in music : 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
 Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still; 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
 To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences. 
 
 hen. v. act i. sc. I. 
 » 
 You are too much mistaken in this king: 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors, — 
 With what great state he heard their embassy, 
 73 E 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
 How modest in exception, and, withal, 
 How terrible in constant resolution, — 
 And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 hen. v. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 HENRY V.Speech to his Army. 
 He, that out-lives this day, and comes safe home, 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
 He, that shall live this day, and see old age, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, 
 And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian : 
 Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, 
 And say, These wounds I had on Crispin's day. 
 Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot, 
 But he'll remember, with advantages, 
 What feats he did that day : Then shall our names, 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
 Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster, — 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered . ib. act iv. sc . 3. 
 
 HIGH BIRTH. 
 
 I was born so high, 
 
 Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, 
 
 And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 
 
 rich. in. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 HONESTY DISPRAISED. 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 For nought but provender ; and, when he's old, cashier'd ; 
 Whip me such honest knaves : Others there are, 
 W T ho, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 74 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ; 
 And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, 
 Do well thrive by them ; and, when they've lin'd their coats, 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have some soul ; 
 
 And such a one do I profess myself. 
 
 It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
 
 Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: 
 
 In following him, I follow but myself ; 
 
 Heaven is my judge ! not I for love and duty, 
 
 But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve, 
 
 For daws to peck at : I'm not what I am. oth. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 — Let none presume 
 
 To wear an underserved dignity. 
 
 O, that estates, degrees, and offices, 
 
 Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour 
 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 
 How many then should "cover, that stand bare? 
 
 How many be commanded, that command ? 
 
 How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
 
 From the true seed of honour? and how much honour 
 
 Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, 
 
 To be new varnish'd? merch. of ven. act ii. sc. 9* 
 
 By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, 
 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon 
 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
 
 And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; 
 
 So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, 
 
 Without co-rival, all her dignities, hen. i v. p. I. acti.sc.3. 
 
 Well, 'tis.no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but 
 
 how if honour prick me off when I come on, how then ? 
 
 Can honour set-to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take 
 
 away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in 
 
 75 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is 
 that word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! — Who hath 
 it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. 
 t)oth he hear it? No. It is insensible then? Yea, to the 
 dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why? 
 Detraction will not suffer it: — therefore I'll none of it: 
 Honour is a mere 'scutcheon ; and so ends my catechism. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act v. sc. K 
 
 His nature is too noble for the world : 
 
 He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 
 
 Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth : 
 
 What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; 
 
 And, being angry, doth forget that ever 
 
 He heard the name of death. cor. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 If Jupiter 
 
 Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
 
 'Tis true, I'd not believe them more than thee, 
 
 All noble Marcius, ibid, act iv. sc. 5. 
 
 Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : 
 Life every man holds dear ; but the brave man 
 Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. 
 
 TROIL. & ORES, act V, SC. 3. 
 
 HONOUR AND POLICY. 
 I have heard you say, 
 
 Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
 
 Tth'war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me, 
 
 In peace, what each of them by th' other lose, 
 
 That they combine not there? cor. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 HOPE. 
 Hope is a lover ? s staff; walk hence with that, 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act Hi. SC. 1. 
 
 1 will despair, and be at enmity 
 With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper-back of death, 
 
 76 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity, rich. ii. act ii. sc. 2 
 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallows' wings ; 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 
 
 rich. III. act v. se. 2. 
 
 HORROR. 
 
 Some strange commotion 
 
 Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts ; 
 
 Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
 
 Then lays his finger on his temple ; straight, 
 
 Springs out into fast gait ; then, stops again, 
 
 Strikes his breast hard ; and then anon, he casts 
 
 His eye 'gainst the moon : in most strange postures 
 
 We've seen him set himself. hen. viii. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 HORRORS OF A PREMEDITATED MURDER. 
 Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: 
 But thou shalt have ; and, creep time ne'er so slow, 
 Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 I bad a thing to say, — But let it go : 
 The sun's in the heaven, and the proud day, 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, 
 _To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
 Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
 (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 Making that ideot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 A passion hateful to my purposes ;) 
 Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
 77 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: 
 
 But, ah! I will not. john, act Hi. sc. 3. 
 
 HOUNDS. 
 My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
 Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd, like Thessalian bulls; 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor inThessaly. m. n.d. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 — Wilt thou hunt? 
 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 TAM. OF THE SHREW, ind. SC. 2. 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill 
 together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whip- 
 ped them not ; and our crimes would despair, if they were 
 not cherish'd by our virtues. A. w. E. w . act iv, sc. 3. 
 
 HUSBAND. — A deserving one. 
 
 happy Leohatus ! I may say ; 
 
 The credit, that thy lady hath of thee, 
 
 Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
 
 Her assur'd credit! — Blessed live you long! 
 
 A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
 
 Country called his ! and you, his mistress, only 
 
 For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. 
 
 1 have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
 Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord 
 That which he is, new o'er: And he is one 
 The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch, 
 That he enchants societies unto him : 
 
 Half all men's hearts are his. 
 
 He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : 
 He hath a kind of honour sets him off, 
 More than a mortal seeming. cymb. act \. sc. 7> 
 
 78 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 HYPOCRISY. 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek ; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart; 
 O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! 
 
 MERCH. OF YEN, dCtl. SC. 3. 
 
 Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
 
 For villainy is not without such rheum ; 
 
 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 
 Like rivers of remorse and innocence, joh. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 • To beguile the time, 
 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, 
 
 But be the serpent under it. MACBETH, act i. sc.5. 
 
 My unsoiFd name, th'austereness of my life, 
 
 My vouch against you, and my place i'th' state, 
 
 Will so your accusation overweigh, 
 
 That you shall stifle in your own report, 
 
 And smell of calumny, meas. for meas. act ii. sc.4. 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 
 Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turn'd, 
 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 
 Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
 
 That babies luKs asleep ! The smiles of knaves 
 
 Tent in my cheeks ; and schoolboys 7 tears take up 
 
 The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue 
 
 Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees, 
 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 
 That have receiv'd an alms ! cor. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture, 
 Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil : 
 And thus I clothe my naked villainy 
 With old odd ends, stoln forth of holy writ ; 
 And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 
 
 rich. ill. act i. sc. 3. 
 79 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 We're oft to blame in this, — 
 
 Tis too much prov'd, — that, with devotion's visage, 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 
 The devil himself. -■ — 
 
 The harlot's cheek, beaut/d with plast'ring art, 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word. 
 
 hamlet, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 IDEAL GOVERNMENT. 
 1'th' commonwealth, I would by contraries 
 Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service, 
 Of riches or of poverty ; no contracts, 
 Successions ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 No occupation; all men idle, all; 
 And women too ; but innocent and pure : 
 
 No sovereignty. 
 
 All things in common Nature should produce, 
 Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but Nature should bring forth 
 Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance 
 To feed my innocent people. tempest, act ii, sc. 1. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
 That never touch well-welcome to thy hand, 
 That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
 Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself? 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me, , 
 That, undividable, incorporate, 
 Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; 
 For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 
 80 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulph, 
 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again, 
 
 Without addition, or diminishing, 
 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 
 
 Should'st thou but hear I were licentious ? — 
 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
 
 By ruffian lust should be contaminate ? 
 
 Would'st thou not spit at me, and spuria at me, 
 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face, 
 
 And tear the stain'd skin of my harlot brow, 
 
 And from my falsehood cut the wedding ring 
 
 And break it with a deep divorcing vow ? 
 
 I know thou canst ; and therefore, see, thou do it. 
 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
 
 For if we two be one, and thou play false, 
 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 
 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 
 
 I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured. 
 
 com. of ERR. act ii. $c. 2. 
 
 The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
 
 It seems, his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing : 
 
 And thereof comes it, that his head is light. 
 
 Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings : 
 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions, 
 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 
 And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
 
 Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy broils : 
 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 
 (Kinsmen to grim and comfortless despair ;) 
 
 And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
 
 Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life ? 
 
 In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
 
 To be disturb'd, would mad a man, or beast : 
 
 The consequence is then, thy jealous fits 
 
 Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 
 
 81 e 2 ibid. actv. sc.l. 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 ■Is whispering nothing? 
 
 Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? 
 Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
 Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible 
 Of breaking honesty :) — horsing foot on foot ? 
 Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? 
 Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind 
 With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only, 
 That would unseen be wicked ? is tfiis nothing ? 
 Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; 
 The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; 
 My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings, 
 If this be nothing. wint. tale, act i. ac. 2. 
 
 Trifles, light as air, 
 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. 
 
 — What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust ? 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 
 I slept the next night well, was free, and merry ; 
 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, 
 
 Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all. 
 
 — I had been happy, if the general camp, 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known : O now, for ever, 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner ; and all quality, 
 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! oth. act iii, sc. 3 
 
 ■ Had it pleas'd heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
 
 All kind of sores, and shames, on my bare head; 
 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 
 82 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; 
 
 I should have found in some place of my soul 
 
 A drop of patience: but, (alas!) to make me 
 
 A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 
 To point his slow unmoving finger at, — 
 
 O! O! 
 
 Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
 
 But there, where I have garner'd up my heart ; 
 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life; 
 
 The fountain from the which my current runs, 
 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 
 
 Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads 
 
 To knot and gender in ! — Turn thy complexion there ! 
 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin ; 
 
 Aye, there, look grim as hell ! 
 
 O thou weed ! 
 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
 That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would, thou had'st 
 
 Ne'er been born ! 
 
 — Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
 
 Made to write Whore upon ? What committed ! 
 
 Committed ! — O thou public commoner ! 
 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
 
 Did I but speak thy deeds. — What committed \ 
 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; 
 
 The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, 
 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 
 And will not hear it : What committed ! — 
 
 Impudent strumpet! otkello, act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of her's than snow, 
 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 Put out the light, and then — put out the light ! — 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine, 
 83 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Thou cunning'st- pattern of excelling nature, 
 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 
 That can thy light relumine. When I have pluck'd thy rose, 
 
 I cannot give it vital growth again ; 
 
 It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and 1 will kill thee, 
 
 And love thee after: — One more, and this the last: 
 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 
 But they are cruel tears : This sorrow's heavenly; 
 
 It strikes, where it doth love. 
 
 — Cassio did tup her; ask thy husband else. 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity: Thy husband knew it all. 
 
 — Nay, had she been true, 
 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
 
 Td not have sold her for it. othello, act v. sc. 2. 
 
 A JEW'S REVENGE. 
 
 If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. 
 
 He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million ; 
 laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my 
 nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
 mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew: Hath 
 not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
 senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt 
 with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed 
 by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter 
 and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not 
 bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, 
 do we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? 
 if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. 
 If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? revenge : 
 If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be 
 by Christian example? why, revenge. The villainy you 
 teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, but I will 
 better the instruction. merch. of ven. act hi. sc, 1. 
 
 84 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 I'll have ray bond ; speak not against my bond ; 
 I've sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : 
 Thou call'dst me dog before thou had'st a cause : 
 
 But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
 
 — I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak : 
 Til have my bond ; and therefore speak no more, 
 I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
 I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. (LCt Hi. SC. 3. 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact: 
 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; 
 That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation, and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
 That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
 Or, in the night, imagining some fear, 
 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear? 
 
 mid. night's dr. act v. sc. 1. 
 IMPATIENCE. 
 
 O ur nuptial hour 
 
 Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 ibid, act i. sc. 1. 
 85 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 Let them come; 
 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
 
 And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, 
 
 All hot, and bleeding, will he offer them : 
 
 The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, 
 
 Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, 
 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 
 
 And yet not ours: — Come, let me take my horse, 
 
 Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Against the bosom of the prince of Wales . 
 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 
 
 O, that Glendower were come ! 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act iv. se. 2. 
 
 O, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio ? 
 
 He is at Milford Haven : Read, and tell me 
 
 How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 
 Glide thither in a day? — Then, true Pisanio, 
 
 (Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who long'st, — 
 
 O let me 'bate, — but not like me : — yet long'st,— 
 
 But in a fainter kind : — O, not like me ; 
 
 For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, 
 
 (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, 
 
 To th'smoth'ring of the sense,) how far it is 
 
 To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way, 
 
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
 
 T' inherit such a haven : But, first of all, 
 
 How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
 
 That we shall make in time, from our hence-going 
 
 And our return, t' excuse: — but first, how get hence: 
 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot ? 
 
 We'll talk of that hereafter. Prythee, speak, 
 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 
 'Twixt hour and hour? 
 
 Why, one that rode to's execution, man, 
 Could never go so slow: I've heard of riding wagers, 
 Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
 That run i'th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry: — 
 Go, bid my woman feign a sickness ; say, 
 86 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 She'll home t'her father: and provide me, presently, 
 
 A riding-suit ; no costlier than would fit 
 
 A franklin's housewife. cymb. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 
 Tow'rds Phcebus' mansion ; such a waggoner 
 
 As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
 
 And bring in cloudy night immediately. 
 
 Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night ! 
 
 That run-away 's eyes may wink ; and Romeo 
 
 Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! — 
 
 Lovers can see to do their am'rous rites 
 
 By their own beauties : or, if love be blind, 
 
 It best agrees with night. ROM. & JUL. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 IMPLACABILITY. 
 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
 
 And bid the main flood 'bate his usual height ; 
 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 
 You may as well forbid the. mountain pines 
 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
 
 You may as well do any thing most hard, 
 
 As seek to soften that (than which what's harder ?) 
 
 His Jewish heart. merch. of ven. act iv. sc. i. 
 
 IMPUDENCE. 
 I ne'er heard vet, 
 
 That any of those bolder vices wanted 
 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did, 
 
 Than to perform it first. wint. tale, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 INCONSTANCY. 
 E'en as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act U. SC 4. 
 
 Let still the woman take 
 
 An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, 
 
 87 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 
 
 Than women's are. twelfth night, act ii. sc.4. 
 
 INCREDULITY. 
 
 If in Naples 
 
 I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
 
 If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
 
 (For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 
 Many, nay, almost any. tempest, act iii. sc*3. 
 
 INDULGENCE. 
 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue, 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) 
 A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act i. SC. 3. 
 
 INFANT EXPOSED. 
 
 YVe enjoin thee, 
 
 As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 
 Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it, 
 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection, 
 
 And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 
 It came to us, I do injustice charge thee, — 
 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, — 
 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it. win.ta. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 Blossom, speed thee well ! 
 
 There lie ; and there thy character : there these ; 
 Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, 
 And still rest thine. — The storm begins : — Poor wretch, 
 
 88 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus exposed 
 To loss, and what may follow !- — Weep I cannot, 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurst am I, 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell ! 
 
 wint. tale, act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 INFATUATION. 
 
 When we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 
 (O misery on't !) the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
 
 In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 
 Adore our errors ; laugh at 's, while we strut 
 
 To our confusion. ant. & cleo. act iii. $c. 11. 
 
 INGRATITUDE. 
 Blow, blow, thou wiuter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 4. Y, i. act ii. sc. 7. 
 
 Yet, you that hear me, 
 
 This from a dying man receive as certain : 
 
 Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, 
 
 Be sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends, 
 
 And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
 
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
 
 Like water from ye, never found again 
 
 But where they mean to sink ye. hen. viii. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 Heavens ! have I said, the bounty of this lord ! 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants 
 This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ? 
 What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, roval Timon ! 
 89 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, 
 The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
 Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, 
 These flies are couch'd. 
 
 -These old fellows 
 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
 Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 
 *Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
 And Nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
 Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. 
 
 tim. of ath. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend, 
 
 More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child, 
 
 Than the sea-monster! LEAR, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
 
 As full of grief as age, wretched in both ! 
 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 
 Against their father, fool me not so much 
 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 
 O, let not women's weapons, water-drops, 
 
 Stain my man's cheeks !-^-No, you unnat'ral hags, 
 
 I will have such revenges on you both, 
 
 That all the world shall 1 will do such things, — 
 
 What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 
 The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep ; 
 No, I'll not weep : — 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
 Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 
 
 ibid, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 INHUMANITY. 
 • 'Tis a cruelty, 
 
 To load a falling man. hen. viii. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 - O ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 
 90 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; 
 
 Under my burthen groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 
 Against what should ensue. tempest, act i. $c. 2. 
 
 1 have mark'd 
 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 
 In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ; 
 
 And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, 
 
 To burn the errors that these princes hold 
 
 Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool ; 
 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
 
 Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
 
 The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
 
 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 
 Under some biting error. much ado, act iv. $c. 1. 
 
 Since what I am to say, must be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myself ; it shall scarce boot me 
 To say, Nat guilty : mine integrity, 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
 I doubt not then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
 (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
 Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd, 
 And play'd, to take spectators: For behold me, — 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing, 
 To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore 
 Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour, 
 91 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 
 And only that I stand for. I appeal 
 
 To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
 
 Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
 
 How merited to be so ; since he came, 
 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 
 Have strain'd, t' appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 
 The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will, 
 
 That way inclining ; hardened be the hearts 
 
 Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
 
 Cry, Fie upon my grave! wint. tale, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 
 Persuades, when speaking fails. ibid, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' th' sun, 
 
 And bleat the one at th' other : what we chang'd, 
 
 Was innocence for innocence; we knew not 
 
 The doctrine of ill-doing ; no, nor dream'd 
 
 That any did : Had we pursued that life, 
 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
 
 With stronger blood, we should have answered heaven 
 
 Boldly, Not guilty j th' imposition clear'd 
 
 Hereditary ours. ibid, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 False to his bed ! What is it, to be false ? 
 
 To lie in watch there, and to think on him ? 
 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge nature, 
 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 
 And cry myself awake ? that's false to his bed ? 
 
 Is it? ' cymb. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 INTEGRITY. 
 There is a kind of character in thy life, 
 That, to th' observer, doth thy history 
 Fully unfold : Thyself and thy belongings 
 Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; 
 Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 92 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As if we bad them not. Spirits are not finely touch/d, 
 
 But to fine issues : nor Nature never lends 
 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence. 
 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 
 Herself the glory of a creditor, 
 
 Both thanks and use. me as. FOR ME AS. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 
 Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 
 To take upon you what is yours : you may 
 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
 
 And yet seem cold ; the time you may so hood-wink, 
 
 We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 
 As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
 
 Finding it so inclined. MACBETH, act iv. sc, 3. 
 
 INVECTIVE. 
 I caird thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; 
 I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
 The presentation of but what I was, 
 The flattering index of a direful page, 
 One heav'd a-high, to be hurl'd down below : 
 A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; 
 A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag, 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 
 A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; 
 A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 
 Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ? 
 Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ? 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the queen? 
 Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee ? 
 Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ? 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
 For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
 For joyful mother, one that wails the name 
 For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 
 For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care : 
 93 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
 For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 
 And left thee but a very prey to time ; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wert, 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 
 KICH. ill. act iv. $c. 4. 
 
 INVITATION TO LOVE. 
 The birds chaunt melody on every bush ; 
 The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
 The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, 
 And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, 
 And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
 Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, 
 As if a double hunt were heard at once, — 
 Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise : 
 And — after conflict, such as was suppos'd 
 The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd, 
 When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, 
 And curtained with a counsel-keeping cave,— 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
 Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
 Whilst hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds, 
 Be unto us, as is a nurse's song 
 Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep, tit. an. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 O for a muse of fire, that would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention ! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 
 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
 Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, 
 Crouch for employment. hen. v. chorus. 
 
 ■ The raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 
 94. 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
 
 Stop up th' access and passage to remorse; 
 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 
 The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 
 You wait on Nature's mischief ! Come, thick night, 
 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 
 To cry, Hold, Hold ! macbeth, act i. sc. 5. 
 
 JUDGMENT. 
 I see, men's judgments are 
 
 A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
 
 Do draw the inward quality after them, 
 
 To suffer all alike. ant. & cleo. act iii. sc. 11. 
 
 JUSTICE. 
 Remember March, the ides of March remember ! 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers '& shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honours, 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. jul. cms. act iv. sc. 3* 
 
 I not deny 
 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to justice, 
 That justice seizes. What know the laws, 
 That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, 
 95 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, 
 
 Because we see it ; but what we do not see, 
 
 We tread upon, and never think of it. 
 
 You may not so extenuate his offence, 
 
 For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
 
 When I, that censure him, do so offend, 
 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 
 
 And nothing come in partial, me A. for me a. act ii. scA 
 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 
 Make instruments to scourge us. leak, act v. $c. 3 
 
 KINGS. 
 For within the hollow crown, 
 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 
 Keeps death his court ; and there the antic sits 
 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
 
 To monarchise, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 
 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 
 Were brass impregnable ; and, humour'd thus, 
 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 
 Bores through his castle-wall, and — farewell king ! - 
 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 
 With solemn rev'rence ; throw away respect, 
 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty ; 
 
 For you have but mistook me all this while : 
 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 
 Need friends : — Subjected thus, 
 
 How can you say to me — I am a king? 
 
 rich. II. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 The single and peculiar life is bound, 
 With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
 To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What's near it with it : it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
 96 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousaud lesser things 
 Are mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls, 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
 Attends the boisfrous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groau. 
 
 hamlet, act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 KINGDOM. 
 We give express charge, that, in our marches through 
 the country, there be nothing compelled from the villages, 
 nothing taken but paid for; for when lenity and cruelty 
 play for a kingdom, the gentlest gamester is the soonest 
 winner. hen. v. act iii. sc. 6. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE HURTFUL. 
 — — — There may be in the cup 
 A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 Th' abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 
 With violent hefts. wint. tale, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 LABOUR. 
 
 Weariness 
 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 
 Finds the down pillow hard. cymb. act iii. sc. 6. 
 
 LAW. 
 We must not make a scarecrow of the law, 
 Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
 And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
 Their perch, and not their terror. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act ii. SC 1. 
 
 Pity is the virtue of the law, 
 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 
 tim. of ath. act iii. sc. 5. 
 
 LENITY. 
 ■■ O my Lord ! 
 
 Press not a falling man too far ; 'tis virtue : 
 97 F 
 
SUAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY; 
 
 His faults lie open to the laws ; let them, 
 
 Not you, correct him. hen.viii. act in. sc. 2 
 
 I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
 Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 
 My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
 My mildness hath allay 'd their swelling griefs, 
 My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears : 
 I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
 Nor much oppressed them with great subsidies, 
 Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd. 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act iv. sc. $ 
 
 LIFE. 
 Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a cloud ; 
 And, after Summer, evermore succeeds 
 Barren Winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
 So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
 
 ibid. P. II. act ii. sc. 4 
 
 LIFE LOATHED. 
 O sovereign mistress of true melancholy ! 
 The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me ; 
 That life, a very rebel to my will, 
 May hang no longer on me. ant. & cleo. act iv. sc. $ 
 
 LOQUACITY. 
 
 Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than 
 any man in all Venice : His reasons are as two grains of 
 wheat hid in two bushels of chaff ; you shall seek all day 
 ere you find them; and, when you have them, they are 
 not worth the search. mekch. of ven. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 LOVE* 
 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : 
 Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste ; 
 And therefore is love said to be a child, 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 98 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
 So the boy love is perjured everywhere. 
 
 mid. night's dr. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 It boots thee not to be 
 
 In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, 
 With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
 If haply won, perhaps, an hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit, 
 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished.— 
 
 Writers say, As the most forward bud 
 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act 1. SC. 1. 
 
 That life is altered now : 
 
 I have done penance for contemning love ; 
 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 
 Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow 
 
 O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
 
 And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, 
 
 There is no woe to his correction, 
 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
 
 Upon the very naked name of love. ibid, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; 
 All adoration, duty, and observance; 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience; 
 All purity, all trial, all observance. A. Y. L. I. act v. sc. 2 
 99 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Base men, being in love, have then a nobility in their 
 natures, more than is native to them. oth. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 I tell thee, I am mad 
 
 In CressicTs love : Thou answer'st, She is fair ; 
 
 Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
 
 Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; 
 
 Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
 
 Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure 
 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 
 Hard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou tell'st me, 
 
 As true thou tell'st me, when I say-— I love her ; 
 
 But, saying, thus, instead of oil and balm, 
 
 Thou lay'st, in every gash that love hath given me, 
 
 The knife that made it. troil. & cres. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 Expectation whirls me round. 
 
 The imaginary relish is so sweet 
 
 That it enchants my sense ; What will it be, 
 
 When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed 
 
 Love's thrice-reputed nectar? Death, I fear me; 
 
 Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, 
 
 Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, 
 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
 
 I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, 
 
 That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 
 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 
 The enemy flying. ibid, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch 
 
 Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space; 
 
 Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
 
 Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
 
 Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair, [embracing 
 
 And such a twain can do't; in which, I bind, 
 
 On pain of punishment, the world to weet, 
 
 We stand up peerless. ANT. & cleop. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned, ibid. 
 
 100 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
 Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
 Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
 What is it else? A madness most discreet, 
 A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 
 rom.& JUL. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 LOVE DISSEMBLED. 
 Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
 Tis but a peevish boy: — yet he talks well; — 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well, 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
 It is a pretty youth : — -not very pretty : 
 But, sure, he's proud ; and yet his pride becomes him : 
 He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him 
 Is his complexion : and faster than his tongue 
 Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. 
 He is not tali; yet for his years he's tail: — 
 His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip ; 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference 
 Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet 
 I have more cause to hate him than to love him : 
 For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; 
 And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 
 I marvel, why I answer'd not again : 
 But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
 
 A. y. l. i. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 LOVE INSPIRED BY PEACE. 
 O, my lord, 
 
 When you went onward on this ended action, 
 I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
 101 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 But now I am returned, and that war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 
 
 MUCH ADO, act'l. SC. 1. 
 
 LOVE IN WOMEN. 
 — There is no woman's sides 
 
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
 
 As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart 
 
 So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
 
 Alas ! their love may be call'd appetite, — 
 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
 
 That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 
 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 
 And can digest as much : Make no compare 
 
 Between that love a woman can bear me, 
 
 And that I owe Olivia, twelfth night, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 LOVE. — Messenger of, 
 There is alighted at your gate 
 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 
 To signify th' approaching of his lord : 
 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets ; 
 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, 
 
 Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
 
 So likely an ambassador of love : 
 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. act ii. $C. 8. 
 
 LOVE UNSOUGHT. 
 O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
 Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
 I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
 102 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause ; 
 For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, ad \\\, SC. 1. 
 
 LOVER. 
 
 If thou reruember'st not the slightest folly 
 
 That ever love did make thee run into, 
 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 
 Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
 
 Wearying the hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 
 Or, if thou hast not broke from company, 
 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
 
 Thou hast not lov'd. A. Y. L. I. act ii. sc. 4 
 
 • O, so light a foot 
 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. 
 A lover may bestride the gossamers 
 That idles in the wanton summer air, 
 And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 
 
 rom. & jul. act ii. sc, 6. 
 
 LOVER'S COMMENDATION. 
 What you do, 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 
 Fd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
 
 I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 
 Pray so ; and for the ord'ring your affairs, 
 
 To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you 
 
 A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do 
 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 
 No other function : Each your doing, 
 
 So singular in each particular, 
 
 Crowns what you're doing in the present deeds, 
 
 That all your acts are queens', wint. tale, activ. sc. 3. 
 
 LOVER'S HERALD. 
 
 ■ Love's heralds should be thoughts, 
 
 Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, 
 103 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Driving back shadows over lowering hills: 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, 
 And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
 
 rom. & jul. act ii. $c.5. 
 
 LOVERS VOW. 
 I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; 
 By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
 By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ; 
 And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
 When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever woman spoke ; — 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. m. n. d. act i. sc.U 
 
 LOYALTY. 
 Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. 
 The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
 Our faith mere folly : — Yet, he, that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
 And earns a place i'th' story, ant. & cleo. act hi, sc. 1 1. 
 
 LUXURY. 
 You're too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not 
 Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; 
 To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
 And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 
 To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
 With knaves that smell of sweat : say, this becomes him, 
 (As his composure must be rare indeed, 
 Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony 
 No way excuse his foils, when we do bear 
 So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
 His vacancy with his voluptuousness, 
 Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, 
 Call on him for't : but, to confound such time, 
 That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud 
 As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid 
 As we rate boys ; who, being mature in knowledge, 
 104 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, 
 
 And so rebel to judgment. ant. & cleo. act i. sc. 4. 
 
 MACBETH'S CHARACTER. 
 • Yet do I fear thy nature ; 
 
 It is too full o'th'milk of human kindness, 
 
 To catch the nearest way : Thou would'st be great ; 
 
 Art not without ambition ; but without 
 
 The illness should attend it. What thou would'st hi hly, 
 
 That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, 
 
 And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'dst have, great Glamis f 
 
 That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 
 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 
 
 Than wishest should be undone." macbeth, act i. sc. 5* 
 
 MADNESS. 
 ■ By mine honesty, 
 
 If she be mad, (as I believe no other,) 
 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense ; 
 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
 
 As e'er I heard in madness, meas. for meas. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 Alack, 'tis he ; why, he was met even now 
 
 As mad as the vex'd sea : singing aloud ; 
 
 Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow-weeds, 
 
 With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 
 In our sustaining corn. lear, act iv. sc. 4, 
 
 O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : 
 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
 
 Th' observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down ! 
 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 
 That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
 
 Now see that noble and most sov'reign reason, 
 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, 
 
 Blasted with ecstacy. O, woe is me ! 
 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
 HAMLET, act lii. SC, L 
 105 f 3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MAGISTRATE. 
 He, who the sword of heaven will bear, 
 Should be as holy as severe : 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
 More nor less to others paying, 
 Than by self-offences weighing. 
 Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
 Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
 Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
 To weed my vice, and let his grow ! 
 O, what may man within him hide, 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 How may that likeness, made in crimes, 
 Making practice on the times, 
 Draw with idle spiders' strings 
 Most ponderous and substantial things ! 
 
 meas. for meas. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 MAIDS HONOUR. 
 
 The honour of a maid is her name ; and no 
 
 legacy is so rich as honesty. A. w. E. w. act iii. sc. 5. 
 
 MALICE. 
 
 Men, that make 
 
 Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, 
 
 Dare bite the best. hen. viii. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 MAN. 
 This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their parti- 
 cular additions ; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as 
 the bear, slow as the elephant : a man into whom Nature 
 hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into 
 folly, his folly sauced with discretion : there is no man 
 hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of ; nor any man 
 an attaint, but he carries some stain of it : he is melan- 
 choly without cause, and merry against the hair : He hath 
 the joints of every thing ; but every thing so out of joint, 
 that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use ; or 
 purblinded Argus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 troil. & cres. act i. sc. 2. 
 106 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Do you know what a man is ? Is not birth, beauty, 
 good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, 
 virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt 
 that season a man? troil. & cres. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 
 I shall not look upon his like again, hamlet, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 Oft it chances, in particular men, 
 
 That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 
 As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 
 
 Since nature cannot chuse its origin,) 
 
 By the o'er-growth of some complexion, 
 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 
 The form of plausive manners ; — that these men, — 
 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, 
 
 As infinite as man can undergo,) 
 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 
 From that particular fault : The dram of base 
 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout, 
 
 To his own scandal. ibid, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! 
 how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, how ex- 
 press and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in 
 apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! 
 the paragon of animals. ibid, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 What is man, 
 
 If his chief good, and market of his time, 
 
 Be but to sleep, and feed ? a beast, no more. 
 
 Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, 
 
 Looking before, and after, gave us not 
 
 That capability and godlike reason 
 
 To fust in us unused. ibid, act iv. sc* 4. 
 
 MAN'S PRE-EMINENCE. 
 There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, 
 But hath his bounds, in earth, in sea, in sky ; 
 107 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
 Are their males' subjects, and at their controls : 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 
 Lords of the wide world, and wide wat'ry seas, 
 Indued with intellectual sense and soufe, 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 com. of err. act ii. $c. 1. 
 
 MARKS OF A LOVER, 
 A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye, and 
 sunken ; which you have not : an unquestionable spirit ; 
 which you have not : a beard neglected ; which you have 
 not : — but I pardon you for that ; for, simply, your having 
 no beard is a younger brother's revenue : — Then your hose 
 should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve 
 unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you 
 demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such 
 man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; 
 as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. 
 
 A. Y. L. I. act iii. $c. 2. 
 
 First, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath 
 your arms, like a malecontent ; to relish a love-song, like 
 a Robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that had the 
 pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his 
 ABC; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her 
 grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like 
 one that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at 
 Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow 
 like a cock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions ; 
 when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you 
 look'd sadly^ it was for want of money : and now you are 
 metamorphos'd with a mistress, that, when 1 look on you, 
 I can hardly think you my master. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act ii. SC. 1. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 The worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 
 108 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth 
 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship. 
 
 For what is wedlock forced, but a hell, 
 An age of discord and continual strife ? 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 
 hen. vi. p. i. act v. sc.6. 
 
 For know, Iago, 
 
 But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 
 I would not my unhoused free condition 
 
 Put into circumscription and confine 
 
 For the sea's worth. othello, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 The hearts of old, gave hands ; 
 
 But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 
 
 ibid, act hi. sc.4. 
 
 The instances, that second marriage move, 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love; 
 A second time I kill my husband dead, 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 hamlet, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 MARTLET. 
 
 This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 
 By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath, 
 
 Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress, 
 
 Nor coigne of 'vantage, but this bird hath made 
 
 His pendent bed, and procreant cradle ! Where they 
 
 Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air 
 
 Is delicate. macbeth, act i. sc. 6. 
 
 MEDIOCRITY. 
 
 For aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with 
 
 too much, as they that starve with nothing; it is no 
 mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; 
 superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency 
 lives longer. merch. of ven. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 109 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MEEKNESS. 
 Love, and meekness, lord, 
 
 Become a churchman better than ambition ; 
 
 Win straying souls with modesty again, 
 
 Cast none away. hen.viii. act v. sc. % 
 
 MEETING OF LOVERS. 
 It gives me wonder great as my content, 
 To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! 
 If after every tempest comes such calms, 
 May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
 And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
 Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven ! If 1 were now to die, 
 Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate. othello, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emula- 
 tion; nor the musicians, which is fantastical; nor the 
 courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, which is am- 
 bitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is politic ; nor the lady's, 
 which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it 
 is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, 
 extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry 
 contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination 
 wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. 
 
 A. y.l. i. act iv. sc. I. 
 
 O melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find 
 
 The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare 
 
 Might easiliest harbour in? cymb. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 -This is mere madness: 
 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 Ere that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
 His silence will sit drooping. hamlet, act v. sc. 1. 
 
 110 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MELANCHOLY STORIES. 
 
 In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire 
 
 With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales 
 
 Of woeful ages, long ago betid ; 
 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 
 
 Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, 
 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
 
 rich. II. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 MENACE. 
 
 — Thou injurious tribune ! 
 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
 
 In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
 
 Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, 
 
 Thou liest ! unto thee, with a voice as free 
 
 As I do pray the gods. cor. act iii. sc. 3, 
 
 MERCY. 
 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
 
 Become them with one half so good a grace, 
 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
 
 And you as he, you would have slipp'd like him; 
 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. ad H. SC. 2. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Why, all the souls that are, were forfeit once; 
 
 And He that might the 'vantage best have took, 
 
 Found out the remedy : How would you be, 
 
 If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
 
 But judge you as you are? O, think on that ; 
 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 
 Like man new made. ibid. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 "ill 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown • 
 
 His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 
 But mercy is above this scepter'd sway, 
 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself ; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest Gods, 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 
 Should see salvation : We do pray for mercy ; 
 
 And that same pray'r doth teach us all to render 
 
 The deeds of mercy. merch. of ven. act iv* sc, 1. 
 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
 
 Draw near them then in being merciful : 
 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge, tit. AND. act i.sc.2. 
 
 MERMAID. 
 ■ ■ Thou remember'st 
 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. m. n. d. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 MERRY MAN. 
 A merrier man, 
 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; 
 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) 
 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. L. L. L. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 112 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 • After him, came, spurring hard, 
 
 A gentleman almost forespent with speed, 
 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse : 
 
 He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
 
 He told me that rebellion had bad luck, 
 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
 
 With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 
 Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 
 Up to the rowel-head ; and, starting so, 
 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 
 Staying no longer question, hen. iv. p. ii. act i. $c. 1. 
 
 MESSENGER WITH BAD NEWS. 
 Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: 
 So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation. — — 
 —Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
 And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd. — 
 —I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
 Thou shak'st thy head ; and hold'st it fear, or sin, 
 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so : 
 The tongue offends not, that reports his death. 
 And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ; 
 Not he, which says the dead is not alive* 
 Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a suUen bell, 
 Remember'd knolling a departed friend. IBID. 
 
 MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY. 
 
 — Then let's say, you are sad, 
 
 Because you are not merry ; and 'twere as easy 
 For you, to laugh, and leap, and sav, you're merry, 
 113 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 
 
 Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper; 
 
 And others of such vinegar aspect, 
 
 That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. ad i. SC. 1. 
 
 MISERY. 
 Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. 
 
 tempest, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 MISERIES OF WAR. 
 Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleach'd, — 
 Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, 
 Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts, 
 That should deracinate such savagery : 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
 Losing both beauty and utility. 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. 
 
 hen. v. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 MISTRESS. 
 
 , . She is mine own ! 
 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel, 
 As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on-thee, 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act ii. SC.4>. 
 
 MOB. 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
 And as the air blows it to me again, 
 114 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
 And yielding to another when it blows, 
 Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men. 
 
 HEN. vi. p. in. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 What would you have, you curs, 
 
 That like not peace, nor war ? The one affrights you, 
 The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, 
 Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; 
 Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no, 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, 
 Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, 
 "To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, 
 And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness, 
 Deserves your hate : and your affections are 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
 Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, 
 And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye? 
 With every minute you do change a mind ; 
 And call him noble, that was now your hate ; 
 Him vile, that was your garland. cor. act i. sc* 3. 
 
 MODERATION. 
 Noble friends, 
 
 That which combin'd us was most great, and let not 
 A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, 
 May it be gently heard : When we debate 
 Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
 Murder in healing wounds : Then, noble partner, 
 (The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
 Nor curstness grow to the matter. 
 
 ant. & cleo. act ii. sc.2. 
 
 MODERATION IN LOVE. 
 These violent delights have violent ends, 
 And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, 
 Which, as they kiss, consume : The sweetest honey 
 Is loathsome in its own deliciousness, 
 115 
 
SHAKSPEItlAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And in the taste confounds the appetite: 
 Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 
 rom. & jul. act ii. sc. 6. 
 
 MODEST MERIT. 
 It is the witness still of excellency, 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection. 
 
 MUCH ADO, act i. SC. 3. 
 
 MODESTY. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
 And would not force the letter to my view? 
 Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
 Which they would have the proff'rer construe Aye. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act i. SC. 2. 
 
 — — Let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with 
 me to my trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is but one 
 shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, but one dead 
 that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends no wrong, 
 for I have none to lament me ; the world no injury, for 
 in it I have nothing ; only in the world I fill up a place, 
 which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. 
 
 A.Y. L.I. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 MONSTER. 
 A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers. tempest, act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sound of music 
 Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, 
 Becomes the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ! 
 There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, 
 116 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ! 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
 
 MERCH, OF VEN. act V. SC. 1. 
 
 Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awak'd ! ibid. 
 
 MORNING, 
 
 Night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 
 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wand'ring here and there, 
 
 Troop home to churchyards ; damned spirits all, 
 
 That in cross-ways and floods have burial, 
 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
 
 They wilfully exile themselves from light, 
 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 
 
 mid. night's dr. act Hi. sc. 2. 
 
 The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, 
 Check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light; 
 And flecked darkness, like a drunkard, reels 
 From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels. 
 
 rom. & jul. act ii. sc.3. 
 
 See, how the morning opes her golden gates, 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 
 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
 
 Can neither call it perfect day, nor night, jb. act ii. sc.6. 
 
 But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 
 
 HAMLET, act i. SC. 1. 
 
 117 
 
SHAKSPER1AN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MORTALITY. 
 She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word.— 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syHable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an ideot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. macbeth, act v. sc.5. 
 
 Duncan is in his grave ; 
 
 After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; 
 
 Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 
 Can touch him further. ibid, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 Men must endure 
 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither; 
 Ripeness is all. leak, act v. sc. 2, 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players : 
 They have their exits, and their entrances; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven stages. At first, the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eye-brow : Then, a soldier ; 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel; 
 Seeking the bubble reputation, 
 Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
 118 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances; 
 And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
 
 a. y. l. i. act ii. sc*T* 
 
 MURDER. 
 
 See, how the blood is settled in his face ! 
 
 Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 
 
 Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless ; 
 
 Being all descended to the lab'ring heart; 
 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
 
 Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ; 
 
 Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth 
 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
 
 But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; 
 
 His eyeballs further out than when he hVd, 
 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
 
 His hair uprearM, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling ; 
 
 His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasp'd 
 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 
 
 Look on the sheets ; his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
 
 His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, 
 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here ; 
 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 hen. vi. p. it. act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 MURDERER'S LOOK. 
 The image of a wicked heinous fault 
 Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
 Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
 And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, 
 W T hat we so fear'd he had a charge to do. JOHN, acfiv. *. 2. 
 119 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 Where should this music be ? i'the air, or the earth? 
 It sounds no more : — and sure, it waits upon 
 Some god of th' island. Sitting on a bank, 
 Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
 Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
 With its sweet air. tempest, act i, sc. 5. 
 
 Tis good ; though music oft hath such a charm, 
 To make bad, good, and good provoke to harm. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. CLCtlV. SC. 1. 
 
 Let music sound, while he doth make* his choice ; 
 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 
 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him: He may win; 
 
 And what is music then ? Then music is 
 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 
 To a new-crowned monarch : such it is, 
 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
 
 And summon him to marriage. 
 
 MERCH. of ven. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 I'm never merry, when I hear sweet music.-— 
 — The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound, 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, 
 By the sweet power of music : Therefore, the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
 But music for the time doth change his nature: 
 120 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 
 The motions of his spirits are dull as night, 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 
 
 Let no such man be trusted, mer. of ven. act v. $c. L 
 
 If music be the food of love, play on ; 
 Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 
 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 
 That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 
 Stealing, and giving odour. tw. NIGHT, act i. $c. 1* 
 
 NATURAL AFFECTION. 
 O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
 Hath kiird the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart, 
 These sovreign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, 
 (Her sweet perfections,) with one self-same king ! ibid. 
 
 NECESSARIES OF LIFE 
 O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
 Are in the poorest things superfluous : 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
 Why nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. leak, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 NEW CUSTOMS. 
 
 New customs, 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous, 
 
 Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are followed. 
 
 hen. viu. act i. sc. 3 
 
 NEWS-TELLERS. 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 121 G 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embattled and rank'd in Kent : 
 Another lean unwashed artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 john, act iv. $e, 2. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — 
 Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 
 mid. night's dr. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 Ere the bat hath flown 
 
 His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's summons, 
 The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. macbeth, act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 Come, seeling night, 
 
 Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; 
 
 And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, 
 
 Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
 
 W T hich keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 
 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse, ibid. 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy plowman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 
 Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night, 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide, 
 Every one lets forth his spright, 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide : 
 - 122 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And we fairies, that do run, 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house. M. N. D. act v. sc< 2. 
 
 The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseless day- 
 Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings, 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 
 hen. vi. p. II. act iv. sc.L 
 
 Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world : Now could I drink hot blood, 
 
 And do such business as the bitter day 
 
 Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother. — 
 
 O, heart ! lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none. HAM. act in. s. 2 
 
 NIGHT IN A CAMP. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night 
 The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
 That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
 Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd face ; 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents, 
 The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
 With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name, 
 Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, 
 The confident and over-lusty French 
 123 
 
SHAKSPERIAlSr ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp 
 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 
 The morning's danger; and their gesture sad, 
 
 Invest in lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 
 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band, 
 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
 
 Let him cry, — Praise and glory on his head ! 
 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 
 
 Bids them good morrow with a modest smile ; 
 
 And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
 
 Upon his royal face there is no note, 
 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night : 
 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, 
 
 With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; 
 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
 
 A largess universal, like the sun, 
 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 
 Thawing cold fear. hen. v. act iv. chorus. 
 
 NOBILITY. 
 Peace, master marquis, you are malapert : 
 Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current: 
 O, that your young nobility could judge, 
 What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! 
 They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them ; 
 And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 rich. in. act i. $c 3. 
 
 NUN. 
 
 , , Question your desires : 
 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 
 124 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 You can eiidure the livery of a nun ; 
 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 
 To live a barren sister all your life, 
 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 
 Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
 
 Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
 
 Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness, 
 
 mid. night's dr. act I sc. 1. 
 
 OATH. 
 No, not an oath : If not the face of men, 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
 And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
 So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
 To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
 The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen, 
 What need we any spur, but our own cause, 
 To prick us to redress ? what other bond, 
 Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
 And will not palter ? and what other oath 
 Than honesty to honesty engag'd, 
 That this shall be, or we will fail for it ? 
 Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, 
 Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
 That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt : but do not stain 
 The even virtue of our enterprise, 
 Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 
 To think, that, or our cause, or our performance, 
 Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood, 
 That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy, 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 jul. cjes. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 125 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 — Be advis'd, fair maid : 
 
 To you your father should be as a god; 
 
 One that composed your beauties ; yea, and one 
 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 
 To leave the figure, or disfigure it. M. N. D. act i. sc. h 
 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 
 So much they love it ; but to stubborn spirits, 
 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 
 hen. viii. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 OBSOLETE LAWS. 
 
 This new governor 
 
 Awakes me all th' enrolled penalties, 
 
 Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall 
 
 So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
 
 And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 
 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 
 Freshly on me. meas. for meas. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
 
 (The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) 
 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ; 
 
 Even like an overgrown lion in a cave, 
 
 That goes not out to prey : now, as fond fathers 
 
 Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch, 
 
 Only to stick it in their children's sight, 
 
 For terror, not to use ; in time, the rod 
 
 Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd : so our decrees, 
 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
 
 The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 
 Goes all decorum. ibid, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 Though I look old, yet 1 am strong and lusty: 
 For in my youth I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
 126 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
 
 The means of weakness and debility ; 
 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
 
 Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you ; 
 
 I'll do the service of a younger man 
 
 In all your business and necessities. A. Y. L. I. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) 
 Tell me, thou art my son Antipholis. 
 
 COM, OF ERR. act V. SC. U 
 
 Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that 
 are written down old with all the characters of age ? Have 
 you not a moist eye ? a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ? a white 
 beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly ? — Is not your 
 voice broken ? your wind short ? your chin double ? your 
 wit single ? and every part about you blasted with anti- 
 quity ? and will you yet call yourself young ? Fye, fye, fye ! 
 
 hen. iv. p. ii. act i. sc.2. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 Mark it, Cesario ; it is old, and plain : 
 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones, 
 
 Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, 
 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 
 Like the old age. twelfth night, act ii. sc. 4>. 
 
 OMENS. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ; 
 The night-crow cry'd, aboding luckless time ; 
 Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees ; 
 The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
 And chattering pies in dismal discord sung. 
 Thy mother felt more than a mothers pain, 
 127 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ; 
 
 To wit, — an indigest deformed lump, 
 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born, 
 
 To signify, — thou cam'st to bite the world. — 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act v. $c. 7. 
 
 OMISSION. 
 Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves : 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
 And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 TROIL. AND CRES. act iii. SC. 3, 
 
 OPHELIA DROWNING. 
 There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 There with fantastic garlands did she come, 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daises, and long purples, 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them 
 There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide ; 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 
 Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
 As one incapable of her own distress, 
 Or like a creature native and indu'd 
 Unto that element : but long it could not be, 
 Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
 Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. hamlet, act iv. sc. 7. 
 
 OPINION. 
 
 There is nothing either good or bad, 
 
 But thinking makes it so. ibid, act ii. sc.6. 
 
 OPPORTUNITY 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
 
 123 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 
 Or lose our ventures, JUL. cms. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 ORATION. 
 Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say 
 My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, 
 Ye see, I drink the water of my eyes. 
 Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sovereign, 
 Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, 
 His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, 
 His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ; 
 And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. 
 You fight injustice : then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act v. sc. 4. 
 
 I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
 Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held, 
 That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most dignifies the haver : if it be, 
 The man I speak of cannot in the world 
 Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years, 
 When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
 Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator, 
 Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
 When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
 The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 
 An o'erpress'd Roman, and i'th' consul's view 
 Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, 
 And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 
 When he might act the woman in the scene, 
 He prov'd best man i'th' field, and for his meed 
 Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 
 And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, 
 He lurch'd all swords o'th' garland. For this last, 
 Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
 I cannot speak him home : He stopp'd the fliers ; 
 129 G 3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And, by his rare example, made the coward 
 
 Turn terror into sport : as waves before 
 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 
 And fell below his stern : his sword (death's stamp) 
 
 Where it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 
 Was tim'd with dying cries : alone he enter'd 
 
 The mortal gate o' th' city, which he painted 
 
 With shunless destiny ; aidless came off, 
 
 And with a sudden re-enforcement struck 
 
 Corioli, like a planet : Nor all's his : 
 
 For by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 
 
 His ready sense : then straight his double spirit 
 
 Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 
 
 And to the battle came he ; where he did 
 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
 
 Twere a perpetual spoil : and, till we call'd 
 
 Both field and city ours, he never stood 
 
 To ease his breast with panting. cor. act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 FUNERAL ORATION, after the language of Nature. 
 With fairest flowers, 
 
 Whilst Summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shalt not lack 
 
 The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
 
 The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would, 
 
 With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
 
 Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 
 Without a monument !) bring thee all this ; 
 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, 
 
 To winter-ground thy corse. cymb. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 OTHELLO'S ORATION TO THE SENATE. 
 Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 
 
 130 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 
 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 
 Their dearest action in the tented field; 
 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; 
 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 
 In speaking for myself : yet, by your gracious patience, 
 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 
 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 — Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances ; 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth 'scapes i the imminent deadly breach ; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear, 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse : Which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 But not intentively : I did consent ; 
 131 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
 
 That my youth suffered. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 
 She swore, — In faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ; 
 
 T\vas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : 
 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have us'd ; 
 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. oth. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 ORDER. 
 The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, 
 Observe degree, priority, and place, 
 Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
 Office, and custom, in all line of order : 
 And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
 In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
 Amidst the other ; whose med'cinable eye 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
 And posts, like the commandment of a king, 
 Sans check, to good and bad : But, when the planets, 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
 What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! 
 What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! 
 Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, horrors, 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
 The unity and married calm of states 
 Quite from their fixure ! O, when degree is shak'd, 
 Which is the ladder of all high designs, 
 The enterprise is sick ! How could communities, 
 Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
 Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
 The primogenitive and due of birth, 
 Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place 
 132 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Take but degree away, untune that string, 
 
 And, hark, what discord follows! Each thing meets 
 
 In mere oppugnancy : The bounded waters 
 
 Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
 
 And make a sop of all this solid globe : 
 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
 
 And the rude son should strike his father dead : 
 
 Force should be right, or rather right and wrong 
 
 (Between whose endless jar justice resides,) 
 
 Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
 
 Then every thing includes itself in power, 
 
 Power into will, will into appetite ; 
 
 And appetite, an universal wolf, 
 
 So doubly seconded with will and power, 
 
 Must make perforce an universal prey, 
 
 And, last, eat up himself. troil. & cres. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 OSTENTATION. 
 
 Ever note, Lucilius, 
 
 When love begins to sicken and decay, 
 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle : 
 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
 
 They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
 
 Sink in the trial. JUL. cms. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 PAINTING. 
 Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee straight 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook : 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid; 
 And how she was beguiled and surprised, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. — 
 Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood ; 
 Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 TAM. OF THE SHREW, ind. SC, 2. 
 133 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man; 
 
 For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature, 
 
 He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are 
 
 Even such as they give out. tim.ofath. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 PARENTAL FONDNESS. 
 How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
 Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's face, methought I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech'd, 
 In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled, 
 Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
 As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
 How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
 This squash y this gentleman ! wint. ta. act i. sc* 2. 
 
 PARTING. 
 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
 A wilderness is populous enough, 
 So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
 For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more: — Live thou to joy thy life; 
 Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. 
 
 hen. vi. p. II. act iii. sc.2. 
 
 Tend me to-night ; 
 
 May be, it is the period of your duty ; 
 
 Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if, 
 
 A mangled shadow : perchance, to-morrow 
 
 You'll serve another master. I look on you, 
 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
 
 I turn you not away; but, like a master 
 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 
 Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
 
 And the gods yield you for't ! ant. & cleo. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him, 
 134 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 How I would think on him, at certain hours, 
 
 Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him swear 
 
 The shes of Italy should not betray 
 
 Mine interest, and his honour ; or have charg'd him, 
 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 
 T' encounter me with orisons ; for then 
 
 I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, 
 
 And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north, 
 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. cymb. act i. sc. 4. 
 
 PARTING OF FRIENDS. 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
 Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
 Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so, 
 Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time ; 
 And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me, 
 Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
 Be merry ; and employ your chief est thoughts 
 To courtship, and such fair ostents of love 
 As shall conveniently become you there : 
 And even there, his eye Being big with tears, 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 He wrung BassamVs hand, and so they parted. 
 
 merch. of ven. act ii. sc. 8. 
 
 PARTING OF LOVERS. 
 
 What ! gone without a word ? 
 
 Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
 
 For truth hath better deeds than words, to grace it. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act ii. SC. 2. 
 
 We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
 Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
 Injurious time, now, with a robber's haste, 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
 135 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, 
 He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
 And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
 Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 
 
 TROIL. & CRES. act iv. 5C.4. 
 
 Should we be taking leave 
 
 As long a term as yet we have to live, 
 
 The lothness to depart would grow: Adieu! cy. act i. s. 2. 
 
 I would have broke mine eye-strings ; crack'd them, but 
 
 To look upon him ; till the diminution 
 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle : 
 
 Nay, followed him, till he had melted from 
 
 The smallness of a gnat to air; and then 
 
 Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. ibid, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 
 And study help from that which thou lament'st. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act ill. SC. 1. 
 
 How poor are they, that have not patience ! — 
 
 What wound did ever heal, but by degrees ? 
 
 Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witchcraft ; 
 
 And wit depends on dilatory time. oth. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she pause ; 
 They can be meek, that have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, 
 We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
 As much, or more, should we ourselves complain : 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, 
 With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me : 
 But, if thou live to see like right bereft, 
 This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 
 
 COM. OF ERR. act tf. SC. 1. 
 
 136 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently: 
 For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
 The name of honour more than I fear death. 
 
 jul. cjes. act i. sc 2. 
 
 PATRONAGE. 
 O momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ; 
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. rich. ill. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 PEACE. 
 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 errinys 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 pacers : 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, hen. iv. p. I. act i. scA. 
 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
 Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 137 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Orim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; 
 
 And now, — instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — 
 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. rich. in. acti.sc.l* 
 
 PEACE AND WAR. 
 In peace, there s nothing so becomes a man, 
 As modest stillness, and humility : 
 But when the blast of war blows in our etars, 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head, 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow overwhelm it, 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 Overhang and jutty his confounded base, 
 Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height! hen. v. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 PERIL. 
 When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, 
 And, mark, what object did present itself ! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
 Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, 
 Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach^ 
 The opening of his mouth ; but, suddenly 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, 
 And, with indented glides, did slip away 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
 138 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 
 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast, 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
 
 A. y. l. I. act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 PERSEVERANCE. 
 
 Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 
 A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : 
 
 Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devour'd 
 
 As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
 
 As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, 
 
 Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang 
 
 Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
 
 In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; 
 
 For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 
 
 Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; 
 
 For emulation hath a thousand sons, 
 
 That one by one pursue : If you give way, 
 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
 
 Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, 
 
 And leave you hindmost ; — 
 
 Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 
 
 Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
 
 O'er-run and trampled on : Then what they do in present, 
 
 Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours : 
 
 For time is like a fashionable host, 
 
 That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 
 
 And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, 
 
 Grasps-in the comer : Welcome ever smiles, 
 
 And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek 
 
 Remuneration for the thing it was ; 
 
 For beauty, wit, 
 
 High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 
 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 
 To envious and calumniating time. tr. & CR. act iii. sc.3 
 
 PERSEVERANCE IN LOVE. 
 A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er ; 
 139 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 
 
 For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away ! 
 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 
 Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels* faces. 
 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act hi. SC. 1. 
 
 PERSONAL VIRTUE. 
 
 Strange is it, that our bloods, 
 
 Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 
 In differences so mighty : If she be 
 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 
 A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 
 Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
 
 The place is dignified by th' doer's deed : 
 
 Where great additions swell, and virtue none, 
 
 It is a dropsied honour : good alone 
 
 Is good, without a name ; vileness is so : 
 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; 
 
 In these to Nature she's immediate heir ; 
 
 And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn, 
 
 Which challenges itself as honour's born, 
 
 And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive, 
 
 When rather from our acts we them derive, 
 
 Than our fore-goers : the mere word's a slave, 
 
 Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave, 
 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, 
 
 Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
 
 Of honour'd bones indeed. A. w. E. w. act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 PERTURBATION OF MIND. 
 If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 140 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 It were done quickly : If the assassination 
 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
 
 We'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases, 
 
 We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 
 To plague th' inventor : Thus even-handed justice 
 
 Commends th' ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 
 To our own lips. He's here in double trust : 
 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 
 The deep damnation of his taking off : 
 
 And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
 
 Upon the sightless coursers of the air, 
 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
 
 That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, 
 
 And falls on the other. MACBETH, act i. $c. 7 * 
 
 Let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, 
 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams, 
 
 That shake us nightly : Better be with the dead. 
 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 
 In restless ecstasy. ibid, act iii. sc. ?• 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 I'll give thee armour to keep off that word ; 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
 To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
 
 ROM. & jul, act iii. sc. $< 
 141 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 PICTURE. 
 Admirable ! How this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power 
 This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
 
 One might interpret. 
 
 — I'll say of it, 
 
 It tutors nature : artificial strife 
 
 Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 
 
 TIM. OF ATH. act i. SC. 1. 
 
 PITY. 
 
 — For the love of all the gods, 
 
 Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers ; 
 And when we have our armour buckled on, 
 The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ! 
 
 TROIL. & CRES. act V. SC. 3. 
 
 PLAYERS. 
 Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? 
 Do you hear, let them be well used ; for they are the ab- 
 stract, and brief chronicles, of the time : After your death, 
 you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report 
 while you live. hamlet, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
 you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as 
 many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier 
 spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with 
 your hand, thus ; but use all gently : for in the very tor- 
 rent, tempest, and (as I might say) whirlwind of your 
 passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that 
 may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, 
 to hear a robustious perriwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
 to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; 
 who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inex- 
 plicable dumb shows, and noise : I would have such a 
 fellow whipped for o'er-doing termagant ; it out-herods 
 
 Herod : Pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame 
 
 neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit 
 the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this 
 142 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty 
 of nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose 
 of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and 
 is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to Nature ; to show 
 Virtue her own feature, Scorn her own image, and the 
 very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. 
 Now this, over-done, or come tardy off, though it may 
 make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious 
 grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, 
 o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players, 
 that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that 
 highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither have the 
 accent of christian, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor 
 man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought 
 some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not 
 made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. — 
 
 Let those, that play your clowns, speak no more 
 
 than is set down for them : for there be of them, that will 
 themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spec- 
 tators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some ne- 
 cessary question of the play be then to be considered: 
 that's villainous; and shows a most pitiful ambition in the 
 fool that uses it. hamlet, act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 PLEASURE AND REVENGE. 
 
 Pleasure, and revenge, 
 
 Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
 
 Of any true decision. troil. and cres. act ii. $c. 2. 
 
 POLITICS. 
 The devil knew not what he did when he made man 
 politic; he crossed himself by't : and I cannot think, but, 
 in the end, the villanies of man will set him clear. 
 
 tim. of ath. act iii. sc.3. 
 
 POPULAR APPLAUSE. 
 
 I love the people, 
 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement ; 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
 That does affect it. meas. for meas. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 143 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 POPULAR FAVOUR. 
 I pr'ythee now, my son, 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 
 Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant 
 More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 Now humble, as the ripest mulberry, 
 That will not hold che handling: Or, say to them, 
 Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils, 
 Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess, 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
 Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power, and person. cor. act iii. sc. 2. 
 
 POPULARITY. 
 
 Ourseif 
 
 Observ'd his courtship to the common people : 
 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 
 
 With humble and familiar courtesy; 
 
 What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
 
 Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, 
 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
 
 As 'twere, to banish their effects with him. 
 
 Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; 
 
 A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well ! 
 
 And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
 
 With— Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ;-— 
 
 As were our England in reversion his, 
 
 And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
 
 rich. ii. act i. sc.4. 
 
 It hath been taught us from the primal state, 
 That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ; 
 And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love, 
 Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body, 
 Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
 Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. ANT. & CLEO. act i. sc. 4. 
 144 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 PORTIA'S PICTURE. 
 
 What find I here? 
 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
 
 Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 
 Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, 
 
 Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 
 Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs 
 
 The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
 
 A golden mesh t' intra p the hearts of men, 
 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs . But her eyes, — 
 
 How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both his, 
 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 
 In underprizing it; so far this shadow 
 
 Doth limp behind the substance, mer.ofven. actiix. sc.2 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die ? Famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, 
 Upon thy back hangs ragged misery ; 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law ; 
 The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 rom. & jul. act v. $c. 1. 
 
 POWER OF LOVE. 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
 But, with the motion of all elements, 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power; 
 And gives to every power a double power, 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
 When the supicious head of thrift is stopp'd ; 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
 145 H 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: 
 
 For valour, is not love a Hercules, 
 
 Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? 
 
 Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet, and musical, 
 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; 
 
 And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 
 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 
 Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs; 
 
 O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, 
 
 And plant in tyrants mild humanity, l. l. l. act iv. sc. 3, 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
 
 Deny us for our good ; so find we profit 
 
 By losing of our prayers, ant. & cleop. act ii. sc. i. 
 
 O Thou ! whose captain I account myself, 
 
 Look on my forces with a graeious eye ; 
 Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 The usurping helmets of our adversaries ! 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
 Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ; 
 Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! 
 
 rich. III. act v. sc.3. 
 
 The god of soldiers, 
 
 With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
 
 Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou may'st prove 
 
 To shame invulnerable, and stick i'th'wars 
 
 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
 
 And saving those that eye thee ! con. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 PRAYERS. 
 
 When maidens sue, 
 
 Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel, 
 146 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 All their petitions are as truly theirs 
 As they themselves would owe them. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act i. SC. 5. 
 
 PRECISE MAN. 
 Lord Angelo is precise ; 
 
 Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
 That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
 Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 ibid, act i. sc. 4. 
 
 Upon his place, 
 
 And with full line of his authority, 
 
 Governs Lord Angelo ; a man, w hose blood 
 
 Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
 
 The wanton stings and motions of the sense ; 
 
 But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
 
 With profits of the mind, study and fast. IB. act i. sc. 5. 
 
 PRECEDENT. 
 It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 Will rush into the state, merch. of ven. act iv. sc* 1. 
 
 PREDICTION. 
 Let me speak, sir ; 
 
 For Heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
 Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. 
 This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her!) 
 Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 W r hich time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be 
 (But few now living can behold that goodness,) 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 And all that shall succeed : Sheba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, 
 Than this pure soul shall be : All princely graces, 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 147 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 
 Shall still be doubled on her : Truth shall nurse her, 
 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 
 
 She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : Her own shall bless her ; 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 
 And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her : 
 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety 
 
 Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 
 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 
 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 
 Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when 
 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 
 As great in admiration as herself ; 
 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 
 (When heaven shall call, her from this cloud of darkness,) 
 
 Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, 
 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 
 
 And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
 
 His honour and the greatness of his name 
 
 Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish, 
 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 
 To all the plains about him : Our children's children 
 
 Shall see this 3 and bless heaven. 
 
 HEN. VIII; act V. $C.4. 
 
 PREFERMENT. 
 >Tis the curse of service ; 
 
 Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
 
 Not by the old gradation, where each second 
 
 Stood heir to the first. othello, act i. sc, 1 
 
 PRIDE. 
 Small things make base men proud. 
 
 hen. vi. p. II. act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 148 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 Pride hath no other glass 
 
 To show itself, but pride ; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 troil. & cres. act ill. sc. 3. 
 
 He that is proud, eats up himself : pride is his own 
 
 glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever 
 praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the 
 praise. ibid, act ii. sc. 3. 
 
 PRODIGIES. 
 r — Give me leave 
 
 To tell you once again, — that at my birth, 
 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 
 Were strangely clam'rous in the frighted fields. 
 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
 
 And all the courses of my life do show, 
 
 I am not in the roll of common men. hen.iv.p.i. actm.s.l* 
 
 In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
 
 The graves stood tenantless ; and the sheeted dead 
 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets ; 
 
 As stars with trains of fire aud dews of blood, 
 
 Disasters in the sun, and the moist star, 
 
 Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
 
 Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse ; 
 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
 
 As harbingers preceding still the fates, 
 
 And prologue to the omen'd coming-on, — 
 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 
 Unto our climatures and countrymen, ham. act i. sc. 
 
 PRODIGIES RIDICULED. 
 • The earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wiud 
 U9 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
 Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth 
 Our graudam earth, having this distemperature, 
 In passion shook. hen. iv. p. i. act iii. sc. 1 
 
 PROGNOSTICS OF WAR. 
 
 The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, 
 
 Aud meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
 
 The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; 
 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,- — 
 
 The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
 
 Th' other, to enjoy by rage and war. rich. ii. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 PROMISES. 
 Promising is the very air o' the time ; it opens the eyes 
 of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; 
 and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the 
 deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise, is most 
 courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of will, 
 or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment 
 that makes it. tim. of ath. act v. sc. 1. 
 
 PROSPERITY. 
 Prosperity's the very bond of love, 
 Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together, 
 Affliction alters. wint. tale, act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 PROTESTATION. 
 
 — Were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
 
 Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
 That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and knowledge, 
 More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them, 
 Without her love : for her, employ them all ; 
 Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, 
 Or to their own perdition. wint. tale, act iv. sc.3. 
 
 PROVIDENCE. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy, ham. act i. sc. 5. 
 150 
 
SHAKSPER1AN ANTHOLOGY. 
 Let us know, 
 
 Our indiscretion sometime serves us well, 
 
 When our deep plots do pall : and that should teach us, 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 
 Rough-hew them how we will. hamlet, act v. sc. 2+ 
 
 There is a special providence in the fall of a spar- 
 row. If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, 
 it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the 
 readiness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows 
 what is't to leave betimes? ibid. 
 
 That I am wretched, 
 
 Makes thee the happier :- — Heavens deal so still ! 
 
 Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, 
 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 
 Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; 
 
 So distribution should undo excess, 
 
 And each man have enough. leab, act iv. sc. L 
 
 PROTESTATION OF LOVE. 
 True swains in love shall, in the world to come, 
 Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes, 
 Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, 
 Want similies, truth tir'd with iteration, — 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, 
 As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, — 
 Yet, after all comparisons of truth, 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
 As true as Troilus, shall crown up the verse, 
 
 And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 — If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
 When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory, 
 From false to false, among false maids in love, 
 Upbraid my falsehood ! When they have said — as false 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
 1.51 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 
 Pard to the hind, or scep-dame to her son; 
 
 Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
 
 As false as Cressid. troil. & cres. act Hi. sc. 2. 
 
 PUNCTUALITY. 
 Til give thrice so much land 
 
 To any well-deserving friend ; 
 
 But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 
 I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 
 hen. iv. p.i. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 PUNISHMENT. 
 The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: 
 Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, 
 If the first man that did th' edict infringe, 
 Had answer'd for his deed : now 'tis awake; 
 Takes note of what is done : and, like a prophet, 
 Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
 (Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 
 Are now to have no successive degrees ; 
 But, where they live, to end. me A. for mea. act ii. sc.2. 
 
 QUIBBLING. 
 
 dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 
 An army of good words ; and I do know 
 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 
 Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 
 Defy the matter. merch. of ven. act iii. sc. 5. 
 
 RANCOUR. 
 
 1 hate him, for he is a christian : 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 Even there, where merchants most do congregrate, 
 152 
 
^SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thriit, 
 Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! merch. of ven. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 RAPTURE, 
 O, thou day o'th' world, 
 
 Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all, 
 Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
 Ride on the pants triumphing, ant. & cleo. act iv. sc. 8. 
 
 RASHNESS OF YOUTH. 
 I beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i'th' blaze of youth; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it, and burns on. a. w. e. w. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 RAVING OF A MOTHER. 
 I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: 
 I am not mad ; — I would to heaven, I were ! 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself : 
 O, if I could, what grief should 1 forget ! — 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal : 
 For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
 My reasonable part produces reason 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 
 Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he : 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calamity .- 
 
 • Father Cardinal, I have heard you say, 
 
 That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : 
 If that be true, I shall see ray boy again ; 
 For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek ; 
 153 H 3 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 
 
 And so he'll die ; and, rising so again, 
 
 When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 
 I shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more, john, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 RECOMMENDATION— A death-bed one. 
 Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king ; 
 In which I have commended to his goodness 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her !— 
 Beseeching him, to give her virtuons breeding ; 
 (She is young, and of a noble, modest nature ; 
 I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
 To love her for her mothers sake, that lov'd him, 
 Heaven knows, how dearly. My next poor petition 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, 
 For virtue, and true beauty of the soul, 
 For honesty, and decent carriage, 
 A right good husband ; let him be a noble ; 
 And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 'em. 
 The last is, for my men ; they are the poorest ; 
 But poverty could never draw them from me ;— 
 That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, 
 And something over, to remember me by : 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life r 
 And abler means, we had not parted thus. 
 Those are the whole contents : and, good my lord, 
 By that you love the dearest in this world, 
 As you wish christian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 To do me this last right. hen. viii. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 It so fails out, 
 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
 154 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
 
 Why, then we rack the value ; then we find 
 
 The virtue, that possession would not show us 
 
 Whiles it was ours: — So will it fare with Claudio: 
 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
 
 Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 
 Into his study of imagination, 
 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
 
 More moving-delicate, and full of life, 
 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 
 Than when she liv'd indeed. much ado, act iv. «c, 1, 
 
 RELENTING TENDERNESS, 
 Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out, 
 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
 
 Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, 
 
 For that, Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss 
 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
 
 Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
 
 I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate, 
 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 
 Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee, i' th' earth ; [Kneels. 
 
 Of thy deep duty more impression show 
 
 Than that of common sons. COR. act v. sc.3. 
 
 REMEDY OF EVILS. 
 Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
 Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it, which mounts my love so high ; 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
 To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 
 Impossible be strange attempts, to those 
 That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, 
 What hath been, cannot be. A. w. E. w. act i. sc.l 
 
 155 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant, 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
 And by an eminent body, that enforced 
 The law against it ! — But that her tender shame 
 Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, 
 How might she tongue me? Yet reason dares her? — no: 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk, 
 That no particular scandal once can touch, 
 But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
 Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
 Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, 
 By so receiving a dishonour^ life, 
 With ransome of such shame. ' Would yet he had liv'd ! 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, 
 Nothing goes right ; we would, and we would not. 
 
 MEAS. FOR MEAS. act iv. SC. 4. 
 
 O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
 Makes deeds ill done ! for hadst not thou been by 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind : 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 
 Apt, liable, to be employed in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 — Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed ; 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fear in me : 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
 156 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 
 The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. 
 
 JOHN, act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 REPOSE. 
 She bids you 
 
 Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
 And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
 And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, 
 Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; 
 Making such diff'rence betwixt day and night, 
 The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
 Begins his golden progress in the east. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 REPROACH. 
 You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We've lost your son, 
 I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 
 More widows in them of this business'-making, 
 Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault's 
 Your own. tempest, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 Why have you stain upon us thus ? You come not 
 Like Caesar's sister : The wife of Antony 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, 
 Long ere she did appear ; the trees by th' way, 
 Should have borne men, and expectation fainted, 
 Longing for what it had not : nay, the dust 
 Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
 Rais'd by your populous troops : But you are come 
 A market-maid to Rome ; and have prevented 
 The ostent of our love, which, left unshown, 
 Is often left unlov'd : we should have met you 
 By sea, and land; supplying every stage 
 With an augmented greeting, ant. & cleo. act iii. sc.6. 
 157 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 REPUTATION. 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford, 
 Is, spotless reputation ; that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
 Is, a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
 Take honour from me, and my life is done. R , 1 1 . act i . $c. 1 . 
 
 Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord, 
 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing : 
 
 Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 
 But he, that filches from me my good name, 
 
 Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
 
 And makes me poor indeed. othello, act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 RESENTMENT. 
 Let it be so,— Thy truth then be thy dower : 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
 By all the operations of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity, and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barb'rous Scythian, 
 Or he that makes his generation messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, 
 As thou my sometime daughter. LEAR, act i. sc. 1. 
 
 RESERVE. 
 
 Fair soul, 
 
 In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
 If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, 
 You are no maiden, but a monument : 
 When you are dead, you should be such a one 
 As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
 And now you should be as your mother was, 
 When your sweet self was %ot. A. w. E. w. act iv. sc. 2. 
 *15S 
 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 RESOLVED LOVE. 
 I would 
 
 Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
 
 And call upon ray soul within the house ; 
 
 Write loyal cantos of contemned love, 
 
 And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
 
 Holla your name to the reverberant hills, 
 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 
 Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
 
 Between the elements of air and earth, 
 
 But you should pity me. tw. night, act i. sc. 5. 
 
 RESOLUTION. 
 
 If they speak but truth of her, 
 
 These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honour, 
 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
 
 Nor age so eat up my invention, 
 
 Nor fortune made such havock of my means, 
 
 Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
 
 But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, 
 
 Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
 
 Ability in means, and choice of friends, 
 
 To quit me of them throughly. much ado, act iv. sc. 1 . 
 
 Wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought; 
 
 Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
 
 Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 
 Threaten the threafner, and outface the brow 
 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 
 Away y and glister like the god of war, 
 
 When he intendeth to become the field : 
 
 Show boldness and aspiring confidence. JOHN, act v. sc. 1 . 
 
 If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know 
 159 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
 
 The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
 
 Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
 
 Our necessary actions, in tfae fear 
 
 To cope malicious censurers; which ever, 
 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 
 That is new-trimm'd ; but benefit no further 
 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 
 By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
 
 Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, 
 
 Hitting a proper quality, is cried up 
 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd, or carp'd at, 
 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 
 State-statues only. hen.viii. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 How poor an instrument 
 
 May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
 
 My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing 
 
 Of woman in me : Now from head to foot 
 
 I'm marble-constant : now the fleeting moon 
 
 No planet is of mine. ant. & cleo. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak, wanton Cupid 
 
 Shall from your neck unloose his am'rous fold, 
 
 And, like a dew-drop from a lion's mane, 
 
 Be shook to air. troil. & cres. act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
 
 From off the battlements of yonder tower; 
 
 Or chain me to some steepy mountain's top, 
 
 Where roaring bears and savage lions roam ; 
 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 
 O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
 
 With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls ; 
 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
 
 And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
 
 Things, that to hear them told, have made me tremble ; 
 
 And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
 
 To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 
 
 rom. & JUL. act iv. sc. 1. 
 \60 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 RESPECT. 
 I ask, that I might waken reverence, 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
 Modest as morning, when she coldly eyes 
 The youthful Phoebus. troil. & cres. act i. $c. 3. 
 
 RESPECT TO THE WORLD. 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN. act i. SC. 1. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 
 Had stomach for them all. othello, act v. sc. 2. 
 
 — — Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
 With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
 Cry Havock ! and let slip the dogs of war. 
 
 jul. cms. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stands ; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels ; 
 And then Til come, and be thy waggoner, 
 And whirl along with thee about the globe. 
 Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet, 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
 And find out murd'rers in their guilty caves : 
 And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
 I will dismount, and by thy waggon-wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman, all day long ; 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, 
 Until his very downfal in the sea. 
 And day by day Til do this heavy task, 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 TIT. AND. act V. SC. 4. 
 
 RHYMERS. 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers . 
 ]6l 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
 Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 hen. iv. p.i. act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 RICHARD III.— His character. 
 Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; 
 Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious; 
 Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous ; 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody. 
 
 rich. in. act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 RISING PASSION. 
 I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad ; 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
 We'll no more meet, no more see one another : — 
 But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; 
 Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh, 
 Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, 
 A plague-sore, or embossed carbuncle, 
 In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee; 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
 I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
 Mend, when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure : 
 I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
 I, and my hundred knights. leak, act ii. sc. 12 
 
 ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
 Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
 And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
 1 62 
 
SHAKSPERJAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And cailor cries, and falls into a cough j 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe, 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
 
 M« N. D. act ii. sc. 1 
 ROYALTY. 
 
 — Do but think 
 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
 
 Within whose circuit is elysium, 
 
 And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
 
 hen. vi. p. ill. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honour, for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations, 
 They often feel a world of restless cares : 
 So that between their titles, and low name, 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 rich. in. act i. sc. 5. 
 RUMOUR. 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ; 
 The which in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity, 
 Under the smile of safety, wounds the world 
 And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
 Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
 Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief, 
 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant War, 
 And no such matter ? Rumour is a pipe 
 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop, 
 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
 The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
 Can play upon it. HEN. IV. P. II. tfttf. 
 
 SATIRE. 
 
 Why, who cries out on pride, 
 
 That can therein tax any private party ? 
 163 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 
 Till that the very means do ebb ? 
 
 What woman in the city do I name, 
 
 When that I say, The city-woman bears 
 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
 
 Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
 
 When such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? 
 
 Or what is he of basest function, 
 
 That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 
 His folly to the metal of my speech? 
 
 There then ; How, what then ? Let me see wherein 
 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right, 
 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free, 
 
 Why, then, my taxing, like a wild-goose, flies, 
 
 Unclaimed of any man. A. Y. L. I. act ii. sc. 7 
 
 SCOLDING. 
 
 Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ? 
 
 Have I not, in my time, heard lions roar? 
 
 Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, 
 
 Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat? 
 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies ? 
 
 Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang ? 
 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; 
 
 That gives not half so great a blow to th' ear, 
 
 As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire? tam.sh. act i. sc. 2. 
 
 SCORNFUL AND SATIRICAL BEAUTY. 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endear'd. = 
 
 
 I never yet saw man, 
 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
 But she would spell him backward : if fair-fac'd, 
 She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 
 164* 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic, 
 Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
 If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
 If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; 
 If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out ; 
 And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 
 
 much ado, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 SEASONS. 
 The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
 When neither is attended ; and, I think, 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season seasor/d are 
 To their right praise, and true perfection ! 
 
 MERCH. OF VEN, act V. SC. 1. 
 
 SEDUCTION. 
 This man hath witch'd the bosom of my child : 
 Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
 Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And storn th' impression of her phantasy 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats ; messengers 
 Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : 
 With cunning hast thou Jilcli'd my daughter's heart ; 
 Tum'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
 To stubborn harshness. M. N. d. act i. sc. 1 
 
 SELF-ABASEMENT. 
 
 Though, for myself alone, 
 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
 To wish myself much better ; yet for you, 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself ; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 More rich ; that, to stand high in your account, 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
 165 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Exceed account : but the full sum of me 
 
 Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, 
 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised : 
 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 
 Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 
 Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 
 
 Is now converted. merch. of ven. act iii. sc . 2. 
 
 SELF-INTEREST. 
 
 Rounded in the ear 
 
 With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ; 
 
 That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
 
 That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ; — 
 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 
 But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that ; 
 
 That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity, — 
 
 Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
 
 The world, which of itself is poised well, 
 
 Made to run even, upon even ground ; 
 
 Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, 
 
 This sway of motion, this commodity, 
 
 Makes it take head from all indifferency, 
 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent. 
 
 JOHN, act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 SELF-LOVE. 
 Self-love, is not so vile a sin, 
 
 As self-neglecting. HEN. v. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 SEPARATION. 
 To die, is to be banish'd from myself ; 
 And Silvia is myself : banish'd *rom her, 
 Is self from self ; a deadly ban [iment ! 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
 Unless it be, to think that she is by, 
 166 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 
 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 
 Foster'd, illumin'd, eherish'd, kept alive. T. G. v. act Hi. sc.l 
 
 SERVILITY. 
 
 So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 
 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 
 The general subjects to a well-wish'd king 
 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
 
 Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
 
 Must needs appear offence, meas. for meas. actn.scA, 
 
 It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
 
 By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant, 
 
 To break within the bloody house of life : 
 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 
 To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
 
 Of dang'rous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
 
 More upon humour, than advis'd respect. JOHN, act iv. s. 2. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 I am a true labourer ; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; 
 owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness ; glad of other 
 men's good, content with my harm : and the greatest of 
 my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 
 
 A. y. l. i* act Hi. sc. 2. 
 
 SHEPHERDS LIFE. 
 O God! methinks, it were a happy life, 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now ; 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
 How many make the hour full complete 
 How many hours bring about the day, 
 How many days will finish up the year, 
 167 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 
 When this is known, then to divide the time : 
 
 So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
 
 So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 
 So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 
 So many months ere I shall sheer the fleece : 
 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created, 
 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet, how lovely ! 
 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 
 Than doth a rich-embroider'd canopy 
 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
 
 O, yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. 
 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, 
 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 
 His body couched on a curious bed, 
 
 When care, mistrust, and treasons wait on him. 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act ii. $c. 6. 
 
 SHEPHERD'S PHILOSOPHY. 
 I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is ; 
 and that he that wants money, means, and content, is 
 without three good friends : — That the property of rain 
 is to wet, and fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat 
 sheep ; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the 
 sun : That he, that hath learned no wit by nature, nor art, 
 may complain of good-breeding, or comes of a very dull 
 kindred. A. Y. l. I. act hi. $c. 2. 
 
 SICKNESS. 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all office, 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 
 168 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
 
 To suifer with the body. leak, act ii. sc.4. 
 
 SIMPLICITY. 
 I was not much afeard : for once, or twice, 
 I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly, 
 The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. wint. tale, act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 SLANDER. 
 
 For slander lives upon succession ; 
 
 For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 
 
 com. of err. act hi. so-. 1. 
 
 Tis slander, 
 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
 
 Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath 
 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 
 All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, 
 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 
 This viperous slander enters. cymb. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 For haply slander, 
 
 Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
 
 As level as the cannon to his blank 
 
 Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our name, 
 
 And hit the woundless air. HAMLET, act iv. sc. 1, 
 
 SLEEP. 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
 It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth, 
 It is a comforter. tempest, act ii. sc. 1 , 
 
 Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : 
 Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies, 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound, ju L. cjes. act ii. sc. 1 . 
 
 SOLICITATION. 
 
 — Think with thyself, 
 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 169 1 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Are we come hither : since thy sight, which should 
 
 Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, 
 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow; 
 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 
 The son, the husband, und the father, tearing 
 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 
 That all but we enjoy : For how can we, 
 
 Alas ! how can we for our country pray, 
 
 Whereto we're bound : together with thy victory, 
 
 Whereto we're bound ? Alack ! or we must lose 
 
 The country, our dear nurse ; or else thy person, 
 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 
 Our wish, which side should win: for either thou 
 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 
 With manacles thorough our streets ; or else 
 
 Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin ; 
 
 And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
 
 Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune, till 
 
 These wars determine : If I cannot persuade thee 
 
 Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, 
 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
 
 March to assault thy country, than to tread 
 
 (Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, 
 
 That brought thee to this world. COR. act v. sc. 3, 
 
 SOLICITUDE. 
 O my good lord, why are you thus alone? 
 For what offence have I, this fortnight, been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
 Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ? 
 Why dost thou bend thy eyes upon the earth ; 
 And start so often, when thou sitt'st alone ? 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; 
 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, 
 To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy ? 
 In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 
 170 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars : 
 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
 
 Cry, Courage ! To the field ! And thou hast talk'd 
 
 Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents, 
 
 Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ; 
 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
 
 Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, 
 
 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
 
 Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, 
 
 And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, 
 
 That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
 
 Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream : 
 
 iVud in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
 
 Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
 
 On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these ? 
 
 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
 
 And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
 
 hen. iv. p. I. act ii, $€.$, 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VEIt. ad V. $C. 4. 
 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? 
 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 
 The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, 
 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
 
 Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 
 
 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,— • 
 
 This is no flattery: these are counsellors 
 
 That feelingly persuade me what I am. A. Y. L. I. act ii. sc. I. 
 
 SON PRAISED. 
 Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sia, 
 171 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
 
 Should be the father of so blest a son : 
 
 A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
 
 Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
 
 Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 
 See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
 
 Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, 
 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd, 
 
 In cradle-clothes, our children where they lay, 
 
 And caird mine Percy, his Plantagenet! 
 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 SORROW. 
 O, if ihou teach me to believe this sorrow, 
 Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
 And let belief and life encounter so, 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men 
 Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — 
 Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight : 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 john, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
 
 KICH. III. act i. sc.4. 
 
 Nobly he yokes 
 
 A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh 
 
 W r as that it was, for not being such a smile ; 
 
 The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
 
 From so divine a temple, to commix 
 
 With winds that sailors rail at, cymb. act iv. sc. 2. 
 
 Patience and sorrow strove 
 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
 Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day : Those happy smiles, 
 That play'd on het ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 
 
 Could so become it. lear, act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 Give sorrow words : the grief, that doth not speak, 
 Whispers the o'erfraugbt heart, and bids it break. 
 
 Macbeth, act iv. sc, 3. 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 
 But in battalions ! hamlet, act iv. sc.5. 
 
 SPECULATION AND PRACTICE. 
 , If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, 
 chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes* 
 palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own in- 
 structions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to 
 be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own 
 teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood ; but 
 a hot temper leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is 
 madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good 
 counsel the cripple ! merch. of ven. act i. sc, 2. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 
 Do paint the meadows with delight, 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
 And merry larks are ploughmen s clocks, 
 
 When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
 The cuckoo then, &c. l. l. l. act v. sc, 2. 
 
 STATUE. 
 O, thus she stood, 
 
 Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, 
 As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her! 
 I am asham'd : Does not the stone rebuke me, 
 For being more stone than it ? O, royal piece, 
 There's magic in thy majesty ; which has r 
 173 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 
 Standing like stone with thee ! wint. tal. act v, sc. 3. 
 
 STOICISM. 
 I pray thee, peace : I will be flesh and blood ; 
 For there was never yet philosopher, 
 That could endure the tooth-ach patiently ; 
 However they have writ the style of gods, 
 And made a pish at chance and sufferance. 
 
 MUCH ADO, act V. SC. 1. 
 
 STORM. 
 Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-outrunning were not : The fire, and cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. tempest, act i. sc. 2. 
 
 STORM DESCRIBED BY A CLOWN. 
 I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, 
 how it takes up the shore ! but that's not to the point : 
 O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! sometimes to 
 see 'em, and not to see 'em : now the ship boring the 
 moon with her main-mast ; and anon swallowed with yest 
 and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And 
 then for the land-service, — To see how the bear tore out 
 his shoulder-bone ; how he cried to me for help, and said, 
 his name was Antigonus, a nobleman : — but to make an 
 end of the ship; — to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: 
 — but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked 
 them; — and how the poor gentleman roared, and the 
 bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or 
 weather. wint. tale, act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 STORMY NIGHT. 
 The night has been unruly : Where we lay, 
 Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
 Lamentings heard i'th' air; strange screams of death; 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, 
 174 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 New hatch'd to tti woeful time. The obscure bird 
 Clamour'd the live-long night: some say, the earth 
 Was feverous, and did shake. macbeth, act ii. sc. S. 
 
 STREAM. 
 The current, that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with th' enamel'd stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays, 
 With willing sport, to the wild ocean, t. g. v. act ii. $t. 7~ 
 
 STUDY. 
 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 
 Save base authority from others* books. 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 Have n© more profit of their shining nights, 
 
 Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
 
 L. l. L. act i. sc. 1. 
 
 SUBMISSION. 
 God is much displeas'd, 
 
 That you take with unthankfulness his doing : 
 In common worldly things, 'tis call'd, ungrateful, 
 With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
 Much more, to be thus opposite with heaven, 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 rich. in. act it. sc. 2. 
 
 SUBMISSION TO THE LAWS. 
 If the deed were ill, 
 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
 To have a son set your decrees at nought ; 
 To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; 
 To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
 That guards the peace and safety of your person : 
 175 
 
SHAKSPEBIAN ANTHOLOGY 
 
 Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, 
 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 
 Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; 
 
 Be now the father, and propose a son : 
 
 Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, 
 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd ; 
 
 And then imagine me taking your part, 
 
 And, in your power, soft silencing your son. 
 
 hen. iv. p. ii. act v. sc.i 
 
 SUICIDE. 
 To be, or not to be, that is the question : — - 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them ? To die, — to sleep, — 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart- ach, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; to sleep ; — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — aye, there's the rub ; 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause : There's the respect, 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the will; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of ? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 176 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 
 And lose the name of action. hamlet, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 
 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 
 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ; 
 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; 
 
 But life, being weary of those worldly bars, 
 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 
 If I know this, know all the world besides, 
 
 That part of tyranny, that I do bear, 
 
 I can shake off at pleasure. JUL. c#:s. act i. sc. 3. 
 
 SUITORS. 
 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint. 
 
 Th' Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
 
 Of wide Arabia, are as thoroughfares now, 
 
 For princes to come view fair Portia : 
 
 The watry kingdom, whose ambitious head 
 
 Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
 
 To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come, 
 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. M. v. act ii. sc. 7. 
 
 SUN-RISING. 
 
 Know'st thou not, 
 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, 
 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
 
 In murders, and in outrage, bloody, here ; 
 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 
 Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, 
 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 
 
 rich. II. act iii. sc. 2. 
 177 I 3 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 SUPERFLUITY. 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. JOHN act iv, sc. 2* 
 
 SUPPLICATION. 
 
 Whate'er you are, 
 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
 
 If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
 
 If ever been where bells have knolFd to church ; 
 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 
 If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, 
 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 
 In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 a. y. L. i. act ii. sc.7- 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
 The genius, and the mortal instruments, 
 Are then in council ; and the slate of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. jul. CiES. act ii. $e. 1. 
 
 SWIMMING. 
 I saw him beat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 
 'Bove the contentions waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms, in lusty stroke, 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
 As stooping to relieve him. tempest, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 173 
 
SHAKSPBMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 Hast thou, that art but air, a touch, a feeling, 
 Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? 
 Though with their high wrongs 1 am struck to th' quick,. 
 Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part : the rarer action is 
 In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further. tempest, act v. sc, 1. 
 
 TALE. 
 An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. 
 
 rich. in. act iv. se.4-. 
 TEARS. 
 Let me wipe off this honourable dew, 
 That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks; 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 
 Being an ordinary inundation ; 
 But this effusion of such manly drops, 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
 Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors, joh. act v. $c. 2. 
 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 
 
 tit. an. act iii. *e»-$« 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth 
 Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero ! 
 I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
 Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen 
 Th' ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threatening clouds ; 
 But never till to-night, never till now, 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire* 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
 179 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 
 Incenses them to send destruction, jul. CjES. acti. sc.3. 
 
 Things that love night, 
 
 Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
 Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
 And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, 
 Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
 The affliction, nor the fear. lear, act iii. sc. 2 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoever you are, 
 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 
 Your loop'd and window'd ragged ness, defend you 
 
 From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en 
 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 
 And show the heavens more just. ibid, act iii. sc* 4. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 Let but your honour know, 
 
 (Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) 
 
 That, in the working of your own affections, 
 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, 
 
 Or .that the resolute acting of your blood 
 
 Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose, 
 
 Whether you had not some time in your life 
 
 Err'd in this point, which now you censure him, 
 
 And pull'd the law upon you. mea. for mea. act'n. sc, 1. 
 
 Oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
 
 In deepest consequence. MACBETH, act i. sc. 3. 
 
 THIEVERY. 
 I'll example you with thievery : 
 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 
 180 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief, 
 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
 
 The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 
 The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief, 
 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'ii 
 
 From general excrements : each thing's a thief : 
 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
 
 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away; 
 
 Rob one another. tim. of ath. dct iv. sc. 3 
 
 THOUGHT INEFFECTUAL. 
 O, who can hold a fire in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow, 
 By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
 O, no ! the apprehension of the good, 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 rich. ii. act i. sc.3. 
 
 TIME. 
 O, gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
 Still ending at th' arrival of "an hour. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 What ! keep a week away ? seven days and nights ? 
 Eight score eight hours ? and lovers absent hours, 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 
 O weary reckoning! othello, act iii. $c. 4. 
 
 TOOLS IN OFFICE. 
 Octavius, I have seen more days than you : 
 And though we lay these honours on this man, 
 To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
 To groan and sweat under the business, 
 Either led or driven, as we point the way; 
 181 
 
SHAKSPEMAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 And having brought our treasure where we will, 
 
 Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
 
 Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
 
 And graze in commons. jul. c^es. act iv. $c. I, 
 
 TORMENT. 
 
 Thou best know'st 
 
 What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 
 Of ever-angry bears ; it was a torment 
 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 
 Could not again undo. tempest, act i, sc. 2. 
 
 TRAVELLING. 
 
 Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits : 
 Were't not, affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honoured love, 
 I rather would entreat thy company, 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
 Wear but thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act i. S€. 1. 
 
 TROILUS'S CHARACTER. 
 The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; 
 Not yet mature, yet matchless ; firm of word ; 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; 
 Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calmed : 
 His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
 For what he has, he gives ; what thinks, he shows ; 
 Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty ; 
 Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath : 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
 For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
 To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, 
 Is more vindicative than jealous love : 
 They call him Troilus ; and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Thus says iEneas, one that knows the youth 
 Even to his inches : and, with private soul, 
 Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 
 
 troil. & cres. act iv. $€. 5. 
 182 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 TRUE LOVE. 
 If thou shalt ever love, 
 
 In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
 
 For such as I am, all true lovers are; 
 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 
 Save in the constant image of the creature 
 
 That is belov'd. twelfth night, act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 He says, he loves my daughter ; 
 
 I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, 
 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
 
 Who loves another best, wint. tale, act iv. sc* 3. 
 
 TYRANNICAL GOVERNMENT. 
 
 Alas, poor country ; 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself ! It cannot 
 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing, 
 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
 
 Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air, 
 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
 
 A modern ecstasy ; the dead man's knell 
 
 Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 
 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
 
 Dying, or ere they sicken. MACBETH, act iv. $c.5. 
 
 VALE DESCRIBED. 
 A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss, and baleful missletoe. 
 Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And, when they show'd me this abhorred pit, 
 They told me, here, at dead time of the night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries, 
 As any mortal body, hearing it, 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
 
 TIT. AND. act ii. ft. 3. 
 183 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 VALOUR. 
 Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat : 
 Or as a bear, eucompass'd round with dogs ; 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, 
 The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
 
 hen. vi. p. in. act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 VALUE. 
 
 But value dwells not in particular will ; 
 It holds his estimate and dignity 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry, 
 To make the service greater than the god ; 
 And the will dotes, that is attributive 
 To what infectiously itself affects, 
 Without some image of the affected merit. 
 
 troil. & cres. act ii. sc.2. 
 
 VALUE OF THE WORLD. 
 I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, 
 A stage, where every man must play his part, 
 And mine a sad one. merch. of yen. act i. sc. I. 
 
 VANITY OF PLEASURES. 
 Why, all delights are vain ; but that most vain, 
 Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain. 
 
 l.l. l. act ». sc. 1. 
 
 VANITY OF POWER. 
 No matter where ; of comfort no man speak : 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth ! 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
 And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath, 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's ; 
 And nothing can we call our own, but death ; 
 And that small model of the barren earth, 
 
 m 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 
 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
 
 How some have been depos'd, some siain in war; 
 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ; 
 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
 
 All murderM. rich.h. act hi. sc. 2. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel limYd, 
 Will sate itself in a, celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage. hamlet, acti. sc.5 
 
 VOWS. 
 The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; 
 They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 TROIL. & CRES. act V. SC. 3. 
 
 WANT. 
 
 Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. 
 W T hy should you want ? Behold, the earth hath roots ; 
 Within this mile break forth an hundred springs : 
 The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips ; 
 The bounteous housewife, Nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. — Want ? Why want ? 
 
 tim. of ath. act iv. sc.3. 
 
 WANTONNESS. 
 
 _ Eye, fye upon her ! 
 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip; 
 Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out 
 At every joint and motive of her body. 
 O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader ! set them down 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity. 
 
 troil. & cres. act iv. sc. $. 
 185 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 WARLIKE SPIRIT. 
 Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; 
 Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now to buy the horse ; 
 Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
 With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
 For now sits Expectation in the air; 
 And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, 
 Promis'd to Harry and his followers, hen. v. act ii. chor. 
 
 WARRIOR. 
 I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on, 
 His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — 
 Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 hen. iv. p. i. act iv. sc. 1 
 
 WIFE. 
 I do think, it is their husbands' faults, 
 
 If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties, 
 And pour our treasures into foreign laps ; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 
 Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say, they strike us, 
 Or scant our former having in despight ; 
 Why, we have galls ; and, though we have some grace, 
 Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know, 
 Their wives have sense like them ; they see, and smell, 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
 As husbands have. What is it that they do, 
 When they change us for others? Is it sport? 
 I think it is ; And doth affection breed it ? 
 I think, it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs? 
 It is so too : And have not we affections ? 
 Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have? 
 186 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Then, let them use us well : else, let them know, 
 
 The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. oth. activ. sc.3. 
 
 WIFE'S DUTY. 
 Fye, Fye ! unknit that threafning unkind brow ; 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
 It blots thy beauty, as frost bites the meads ; 
 Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; 
 And in no sense is meet, or amiable. 
 A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
 And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
 Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. 
 Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
 Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
 And for thy maintenance : commits his body 
 To painful labour, both by sea and land ; 
 To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
 While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands, 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; — 
 Too little payment for so great a debt. 
 Such duty as the subject owes the prince, 
 Even such, a woman oweth to her husband : 
 And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
 And, not obedient to bis honest will, 
 What is she, but a foul contending rebel, 
 And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — 
 I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
 To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, 
 When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth. 
 Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; 
 But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, 
 Should well agree with our external parts ? 
 
 TAM. OF THE SHREW, ad V. S€. 2. 
 
 WILL. 
 
 'Tis in ourselves, that we are thus, or thus. Our 
 
 bodies are our gardens ; to the which, our wills are gar- 
 187 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 deners : so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set 
 hyssop, and weed up thyme ; supply it with one gender 
 of herbs, or distract it with many ; either have it steril with 
 idleness, or manured with industry ; why, the power and 
 corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance 
 of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of 
 sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would 
 conduct us to most preposterous conclusions. 
 
 othello, act i. sc. 3. 
 
 WINTER. 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail ; 
 When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 Tu-whit! to- who! a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow, 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw; 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly, &c. l. l. l. act v. sc. 2. 
 
 WISDOM AND FORTUNE. 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
 If that the former dare but what it can, 
 No chance may shake it. ANT. & cleo. act iii. sc. 11. 
 
 WITCHES. 
 
 What are these, 
 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants o'th' earth, 
 And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand me, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you" are so. MACBETH, act i. sc. 3, 
 
 18S 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 WITCHES' POWER. 
 I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me — 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down ; 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 Of Nature's germins tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken — answer me 
 To what I ask yon. macbeth, act iv. sc. 1. 
 
 WOLSEY'S CHARACTER. 
 
 You are meek, and humble mouth'd ; 
 
 You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, 
 With meekness and humility : but your heart 
 Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
 You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours, 
 Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted, 
 Where powers are your retainers : and your words, 
 Domestics to you, serve your will as't please 
 Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
 You tender more your person's honour, than 
 Your high profession spiritual, hen. viii. act ii. sc. 4. 
 
 WOMAN'S FEARS. 
 Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
 For I am sick and capable of fears ; 
 Oppi est with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
 A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
 And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, 
 With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 
 john, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 WOMAN IN MANS APPAREL. 
 I 'II hold thee any wager, 
 
 When we are both accouter'd like young men, 
 189 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 
 And wear my dagger with a braver grace ; 
 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy, 
 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 
 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, 
 
 Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies, 
 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
 
 I could not do with all ; — then I'll repent, 
 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them : 
 
 And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 
 
 That men shall swear, I've discontinued school 
 
 Above a twelvemonth : — I have within my mind 
 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
 
 Which I will practise. merch. of ven. act iii. $c. 4, 
 
 Were it not better, 
 
 Because that I am more than common tall, 
 That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
 A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh, 
 A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart, 
 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,) 
 Well have a swashing and a martial outside ; 
 A3 many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblances. 
 
 A. Y. L. I. act i. 8C. 3. 
 
 You must forget to be a woman ; change 
 
 Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, 
 
 (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 
 
 Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage ; 
 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
 
 As quarrellous as the weasel : nay, you must 
 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
 
 Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! 
 
 Alack, no remedy !) to the greedy touch 
 
 Of common-kissing Titan ; and forget 
 
 Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
 
 You made great Juno angry. cymb. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 — Women are angels, wooing : 
 
 Things won are done ; joy's soul lies in the doing : 
 190 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not this,— • 
 Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is. 
 
 TROIL. & CRES. act U SC. 2. 
 
 Women are not 
 
 In their best fortunes strong ; but want will perjure 
 The ne'er-touch'd vestal. ant. & cleo. act Hi. sc. 5. 
 
 WOMEN'S EYES. 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; 
 They are the books, the arts, th' academes, 
 That show, contain, and nourish all the world; 
 Else none at all in aught proves excellent. 
 
 L. L. L. act iv. sc. 3, 
 
 WOMEN, An Invective against, 
 h there no way for men to be, but women 
 Must be half-workers ? We are bastards all ! 
 And that most venerable man, which I 
 Did call my father, was I know not where 
 When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 
 Made me a counterfeit : Yet my mother seem'd 
 The Dian of that time : so doth my wife 
 The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance ! 
 Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained, 
 And pray'd me, oft, forbearance : did it with 
 A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought her 
 As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils ! — 
 This yellow Iachimo, in an hour, — was 't not ? — 
 Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; but 
 Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 Cried, Oh ! and mounted ; found no opposition 
 But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
 Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
 The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion 
 That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
 It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it, 
 The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; 
 Lust, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; 
 1S1 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Ambitions, coverings, change of prides, disdain, 
 
 Nice longings, slanders, mutability ; 
 
 All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, 
 
 Why, hers, in part, or all ; but, rather, all : — 
 
 For even to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
 
 Not half so old as that. Til write against them, 
 
 Detest them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater skill 
 
 In a true hate, to pray they have their will : 
 
 The very devils cannot plague them better. 
 
 cymb. act ii. sc. 7. 
 
 WONDER. 
 There was speech in their dumbness, language in 
 their very gesture ; they looked as they had heard of a 
 world ransomed, or one destroyed : A notable passion of 
 wonder appeared in them ; but the wisest beholder, that 
 knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance 
 were joy, or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it 
 must needs be. wint. tale, act v. sc. 2. 
 
 Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 
 Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 
 When now I think you can behold such sights, 
 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 
 When mine are blanch'd with fear. macb. act iii. sc. 4. 
 
 WORDS. 
 Why should calamity be full of words ? 
 Windy attorneys to their client woes, 
 Airy succeeders of intestate joys, 
 Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
 Let them have scope : though what they do impart 
 Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart. 
 
 rich. in. act iv. sc. 4 
 
 WORLD. 
 O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn, 
 192 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
 
 Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 
 
 Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
 
 Inseparable, shall within this hour, 
 
 On a dissention of a doit, break out 
 
 To bitterest enmity: So, fellest foes, 
 
 Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, 
 
 To take the one the other, by some chance, 
 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 
 
 And interjoin their issues. cor. act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 WRONG. 
 Now breathless wrong 
 
 Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
 
 And pursy insolence shall break his wind, 
 
 With fear, and horrid flight. TIM. of ath. act v. sc. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 • From our infancy 
 
 We have conversed, and spent our hours together : 
 And though myself have been an idle truant, 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
 Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 TWO GENT. OF VER. act h\ SC. 4. 
 
 ■ O thou goddess, 
 
 Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind, 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale. ; Tis wonderful, 
 193 K 
 
SHAKSPERIAN ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 
 To royalty unlearn'd ; honour untaught ; 
 
 Civility not seen from other ; valour, 
 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 
 As if it had been sow'd! cymb. act iv. sc< % 
 
 194 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 I. THE TEMPEST. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 
 
 Fer. There be some sports are painful; but their labour 
 Delight in them sets off : some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
 The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, 
 And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
 And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says? such baseness 
 Had ne'er like executor ; I forget : 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours ; 
 Most busy-less, when I do it. 
 
 Enter Miranda ; and Prospero, at a distance. 
 
 Mira. Alas, now ! pray you, 
 
 Work not so hard : I would, the light'ning had 
 Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile 
 Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
 Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
 Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these three hours. 
 
 Fer, O most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mira. If you'll sit down, 
 
 395 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature : 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease; for my good-will is to it, 
 And yours against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 
 
 This visitation shows it. 
 
 Mira. You look wearily. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me, 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Mira. Miranda : — O my father, 
 
 I have broke your 'hest to say so ! 
 
 Fer. Admir'd Miranda! 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
 What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I've ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 
 And put it to the foil : But you, O you, 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father ; how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of ; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape, 
 Besides yourself, to like of : But I prattle 
 196 
 
; THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Something toe wilaly, and my father's precepts 
 Therein forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
 (I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
 This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speak; — 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 To make me slave to it ; and for your sake, 
 Am I this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me ? 
 
 Fer. O heaven ! O earth ! bear witness to this sound, 
 And crown what I profess with kind event, 
 If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me, to mischief ! I, 
 Beyond all limit of what else Fth' world, 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool, 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 Pro. Fair encounter 
 
 Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them ! 
 
 Fer. Wherefore weep you ? 
 
 Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
 What I desire to give ; and much less take, 
 What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
 You may deny me ; but 111 be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. 
 
 Mira. My husband then ? 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
 As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now farewell, 
 Till half an hour hence. 
 137 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! [Exeunt F. & M. 
 
 Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, 
 Who are surprised withal : but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; 
 For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit* 
 
 II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I.— The Prison. 
 
 Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 
 
 Duke. So, then you've hope of pardon from Lord Angelo ? 
 
 Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
 But only hope 
 I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 
 Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, 
 Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life, — 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
 (Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
 That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
 Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, 
 And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble ; 
 For all the accommodations, that thou bear'st, 
 Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant; 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
 Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not : 
 For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ; 
 And what thou hast, forgei'st : Thou art not certain ; 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
 After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
 For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
 198 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 And death unloads thee : Friend hast thou none ; 
 
 For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 
 
 The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 
 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, 
 
 For ending thee no sooner, Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; 
 
 But, as it were, an after-dinners sleep, 
 
 Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 
 Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, 
 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
 
 To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 
 
 That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 
 
 Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
 
 That makes these odd all even. 
 
 Claud. I humbly thank you. 
 
 To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
 And, seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Isab. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company ! 
 
 Prov. Who's there? Come in : the wish deserves a wel- 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. [come. 
 
 Claud* Most holy sir, I thank you. 
 
 Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. [sister. 
 
 Prov. As many as you please. 
 
 Duke. Bring them to speak, where I maybe conceal'd, 
 Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 
 
 Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? 
 
 Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good in deed: 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
 Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
 Where you shall be an everlasting lieger : 
 Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
 Claud. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, 
 To cleave a heart in twain. 
 
 Claud. But is there any ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
 199 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
 If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
 Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
 To a determined scope. 
 
 Claud* But in what nature ? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as you (you consenting to't) 
 Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud, Let me know the point. 
 
 Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
 Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension; 
 And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 
 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
 I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
 And hug it in mine arms. 
 
 Isab. There spake my brother ; there my father's grave 
 Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : 
 Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i* th' head, and follies doth emmew, 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angelo ? 
 
 Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The damned'st body to invest and cover 
 In princely guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
 If I would yield him my virginity, 
 Thou might'st be freed ? 
 
 Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be. 
 
 200 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Isab. Yes, he would give it thee for this rank offence, 
 So to offend him still : This night's the time 
 That I should do what I abhor to name, 
 Or else thou diest to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do't. 
 
 Isab. O, were it but my life, 
 I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin, 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dearest Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him, 
 That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose, 
 When he would force it ? Sure it is no sin ; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 Isab. Which is the least ? 
 
 Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise, 
 Why, would he for the momentary trick 
 Be perdurably fin'd ? — O, Isabel ! 
 
 Isab. What says my brother ? 
 
 Claud. Death's a fearful thing* 
 
 Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; 
 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
 That age, ach, penury, and imprisonment, 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 Isab. Alas! alas! ; 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live ! 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 201 K2 
 
INTERESTING SCENES 
 
 Isab. O, you beast ! 
 
 O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch ! 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life 
 From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? 
 Heaven grant my mother play'd my father fair ! 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance : 
 Die ; perish ! Might but my bending down 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
 I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
 No word to save thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 Isab. O, fye, fye, fye! 
 
 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade : 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 
 ? Tis best that thou diest quickly. 
 
 Claud. O, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 Re-enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. 
 
 Isab. What is your will ? 
 
 Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, 1 would 
 by and by have some speech with you : the satisfaction I 
 would require, is likewise your own benefit. 
 
 Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be 
 stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. 
 
 Duke. [To Claud, aside.] Son, I have overheard what 
 hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had 
 never the purpose to corrupt her ; only he hath made an 
 essay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the dis- 
 position of natures : she, having the truth of honour in her, 
 hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad 
 to receive : I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to 
 be true ; therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not 
 satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible : to- 
 morrow you must die ; go to your knees, and make ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of 
 love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it 
 
 [Exit Cl AUDIO. 
 
 202 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT- 
 
 III. AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 ACT II. SCENE VII.— A Forest. 
 A Table set out. Enter Duke sen. Amiens, Lords, and others. 
 
 Duke S. I think he is transformed into a beast; 
 For I can no where find him like a man. 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — 
 Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him. 
 
 Enter Jaques. 
 
 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach, 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, 
 
 That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
 
 What ! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i'th' forest, 
 
 A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 
 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
 
 Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 
 And raird on lady Fortune in good terms, 
 
 In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
 
 Good morrow, fool, quoth I : — No, sir, quoth he, 
 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : 
 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke; 
 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 
 Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock : 
 
 Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags : 
 
 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine ; 
 
 And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven ; 
 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 
 And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, 
 
 And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 
 
 The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 
 That fools should be so deep-contemplative: 
 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission, 
 203 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 
 
 Duke S. What fool is this ? 
 
 Jaq. O worthy fool! — One that hath been a courtier; 
 And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it : and in his brain,— 
 Which is as dry as the remainder bisket 
 After a yoyage, — he hath strange places cramin'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 Duke Si Thou shalt have one. 
 
 Jaq. It is my only suit ; 
 
 Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grow r s rank in them, 
 That I am wise. I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? 
 The why is plain, as way to parish church: 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
 Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
 
 Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst do. 
 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 
 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
 And all th' embossed sores, and headed evils, 
 That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, 
 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 
 That can therein tax any private part}?, 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 204 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Till that the very very means do ebb ? 
 
 What woman in the city do I name, 
 
 When that I say, The city-woman bears 
 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
 
 W T ho can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
 
 W T hen such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? 
 
 Or what is he of basest function, 
 
 That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 
 His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 
 
 There then ; How, what then ? Let me see wherein 
 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right, 
 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free, 
 
 Why then, my taxing, like a wild goose, flies 
 
 Unclaimed of any man. — But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn. 
 
 OrL Forbear, and eat no more. — 
 
 Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 
 
 OrL Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. 
 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress ; 
 Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty? 
 
 OrL You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland-bred, 
 And know some nurture : But forbear, I say ; 
 He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
 Till I and my affairs are answered. 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. 
 
 Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall 
 force, 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 OrL I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 
 
 OrL Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: 
 I thought, that all things had been savage here ; 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are, 
 205 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
 
 If ever you have look'd on better days; 
 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church 
 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 
 If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, 
 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 
 In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 [Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Duke S. True is it, that we have seen better days ; 
 And have with holy bell been knoird to church ; 
 And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes 
 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be ministered. 
 
 Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
 Who after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd, — 
 Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger, — 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S. Go, find him out, 
 
 And we will nothing waste till your return. 
 
 Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good comfort ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy : 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woful pageants, than the scene 
 Wherein we play. 
 
 Jaa. All the world's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players: 
 They have their exits, and their entrances; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 206 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Unwillingly to school : And then, the lover ; 
 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
 
 Made to his mistress' eye-brow : Then, a soldier ; 
 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; 
 
 In fair round belly, with good capon liu'd, 
 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
 
 And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts 
 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 
 His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
 
 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 
 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 
 And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
 
 Enter Orlando with Adam. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome : Set down your venerable burden, 
 And let him feed. 
 
 Orl. I thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam, So had you need ; 
 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, fall to : I will not trouble you 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
 Gives us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 IV. MACBETH. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I.— Court within the Castle of Inverness. 
 
 Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Serv. 
 Is this a dagger, which 1 see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : — 
 
 207 
 
INTERESTING SCENES 
 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 
 To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 
 
 A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 
 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 
 As this which now I draw. — 
 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 
 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o'th' other senses, 
 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 
 And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
 
 Which was not so before. — There's no such thing 
 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 
 Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 
 The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 
 Thy very stones prate of my where-about, 
 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 
 Which now suits with it.— Whiles I threat, he lives; 
 
 Words to the Iieat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. [A bell rings. 
 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell, 
 
 That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath made 
 me bold : 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire : — Hark ! 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, [Peace ! 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it : 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, 
 208 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 Whether they live, or die. 
 
 Macb. [within.] Who's there ? — what, ho ! 
 
 Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid, they have awak'd, 
 And 'tis not done : — th' attempt, and not the deed, 
 Confounds us : — Hark! — I laid their daggers ready, 
 He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done't. — My husband ? 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. Fve done the deed : — didst thou not hear a noise ? 
 
 Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. 
 Did not you speak ? 
 
 Macb. When? 
 
 Lady M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended ? 
 
 Lady M. Ay. 
 
 Macb. Hark ! — Who lies i' th' second chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb, This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands. 
 
 Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, 
 Murder ! 
 That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard them : 
 But they did say their prayers, and addressed them 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 
 
 Macb. One cried, God bless us! and, Amen! trie other; 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands, 
 Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen, 
 When they did say, God bless us ! 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, Amen ! 
 I had most need of blessing, and Amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought, 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! 
 Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 
 Sleep, that knits up the ravelTd sleeve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 209 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast ; — 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean? 
 
 Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house : 
 Glamis hath murder } d sleep ; and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brain-sickly of things : — Go, get some water, 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
 They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more: 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ; 
 
 Give me the daggers : The sleeping and the dead, 
 Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
 For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. — Knocking within. 
 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking? 
 
 How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
 What hands are here ? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
 Making the green — one red. 
 
 Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. My hands are of your colour ; but I shame 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber: 
 A little water clears us of this deed : 
 How easy is it then ? Your constancy 
 Hath left you unattended. [Knock.] Hark! more knocking 
 Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, 
 And show us to be watchers: — Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know myself. 
 210 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would thou 
 couldst ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. A Room of State in the Castle. 
 
 A Banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac- 
 beth, Rosse, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down : at first, 
 And last, the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time, 
 We will require her welcome. [They sit. 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends ; 
 For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 
 
 Enter first Murderer, to the door. 
 
 Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. 
 Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i' th' midst : 
 Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure 
 The table round . — There's blood upon thy face. [ToMurd. 
 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. 
 Is he dispatch'd ? 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best o' th' cut-throats : Yet he's 
 That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, [good, 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scap'd. 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been per- 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; [feet ; 
 
 As broad, and general, as the casing air: 
 But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ? 
 
 Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macb. Thanks for that :— 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, 
 211 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 
 No teeth for th' present. — Get thee gone ; to-morrow 
 
 We'll hear, ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. 
 
 Lady M. My royal lord, 
 
 You do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold, 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
 ? Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; 
 From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! — 
 
 Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both ! 
 
 Len. May it please your highness sit? 
 
 [The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macb/s place. 
 
 Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, 
 Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
 Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness, 
 Than pity for mischance ! 
 
 Rosse. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
 To grace us with your royal company ? 
 
 Macb. The table's full. [Starting. 
 
 Len. Here is a place reserved, sir. 
 
 Macb. Where? 
 
 Len. Here my good lord. What is't that moves your 
 highness? 
 
 Macb. Which of you have done this ? 
 
 Lords. What, my good lord ? 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. 
 
 Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : my lord is often thus, 
 And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat ; 
 The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 He will again be well : If much you note him, 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
 Feed,and regard him not. — Are you a man ? [To M. aside. 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. O proper stuff 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear ; [Aside* 
 
 212 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, 
 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
 
 (Impostors to true fear,) would well become } 
 
 A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
 
 Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 
 
 Why do you make such faces ? When all's done, 
 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Pry'thee, see there! Behold! look! lo! how say 
 
 you? [Pointing to the Ghost. 
 
 Why, what care I ? if thou canst nod, speak too. — 
 
 If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
 
 Those that we bury, back, our monuments 
 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [The Ghost vanishes. 
 
 Lady M. What ! quite unmanned in folly ? 
 
 Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
 
 Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'th' olden time 
 Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 And there an end : but now, they rise again, 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. My worthy lord, 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I do forget :— * 
 
 Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
 I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; 
 
 Then I'll sit down :- Give me some wine, fill full : — 
 
 I drink to th ? general joy of the whose table, [Ghost rises. 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
 Would he were here ! to all ? and him, we thirst, 
 And all to all. 
 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 213 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or Hyrcan tiger, 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble : or, be alive again, 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, 
 
 [Ghost vanishes. 
 I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. [The Lords rise. 
 
 Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good 
 With most admir'd disorder. [meeting, 
 
 Macb. Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 When now I think you can behold such sights, 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 W 7 hen mine are blanch'd with fear. 
 
 Rosse. What sights, my lord ? 
 
 Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and 
 worse ; 
 Question enrages him : at once, good-night :— ■ • 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good night, and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty ! 
 
 Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will have 
 blood : 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
 Augurs, that understand relations, have 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
 The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night? 
 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is 
 which. 
 214 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person, 
 At our great bidding ? 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send : 
 There's not a one of them, but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
 (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters : 
 More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, 
 By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good, 
 All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
 Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. 
 
 Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Macb. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : — 
 We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I.— A dark Cave; in the middle, 
 a Cauldron boiling. 
 
 Thunder. — Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 
 
 3 Witch. Harper cries, — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 
 
 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go; 
 In the poison'd entrails throw,— 
 
 [They march round the cauldron, and throw in several ingre- 
 dients as for the preparation of their charm. 
 Toad, that under coldest stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i'th' charmed pot! 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake : 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 
 215 
 
I 
 
 INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Adder's fork, and blind worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble, 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 
 Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf, 
 Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i'th'dark; 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse ; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips : 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 For th' ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter Hecate, and other three Witches, 
 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains, 
 And every one shall share i' th' gains. 
 And now about the cauldron sing, ") 
 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring, > 
 
 Inchanting all that you put in. J 
 
 SONG. 
 Black spirits and white, 
 
 Blue spirits and grey, 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 
 You that mingle may. 
 
 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes:— 
 Open locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. How'now, you secret, black, and midnight hags> 
 What is't you do? 
 
 216 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me: 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 Of Nature's germins tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch. Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 3 Witch. We'll answer. 
 
 1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, 
 Or from our masters'? 
 
 Macb. Call them. Let me see them. 
 
 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 
 All. Come, high, or low ; 
 
 Thyself, and office, deftly show. 
 
 Thunder. — The Apparition of an Armed Head rises. 
 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, — — 
 
 1 Witch. He knows thy thought ; 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware Macduff ! 
 Beware the thane of Fife — dismiss me — enough. [Descends 
 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks : 
 Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: — But one word more: — 
 
 1 Witch. He will not be commanded : Here's another 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thunder. — An Apparition of a Bloody Child rises. 
 
 App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! — 
 Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 App. Be bloody, bold, 
 
 217 I. 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And resolute : laugh to scorn the power of man, 
 For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff : What need I fear of thee ? 
 But yet HI make assurance double sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. [Thunder. 
 
 Apparition of a Child crowned, ivith a tree in his hand, rises. 
 
 What is this, 
 That rises like the issue of a king, 
 And wears upon his baby-brow the round 
 And top of sovereignty ? 
 
 All. Listen, but speak not, 
 
 App, Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until 
 Great Birnam-wood to Dunsinane's high hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends. 
 
 Macb. That will never be ; 
 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root ? Sweet bodements ! good ! 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
 Shall leave the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing ; Tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? 
 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 [The Cauldron sinks into the ground. 
 
 Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : — 
 Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? [Hautboys, 
 
 1 Witch. Show! % Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! 
 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order ; the last with 
 a glass in his hand; BANguo following 
 
 Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down ! 
 
 218 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy hair, 
 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : — 
 
 A third is like the former: — Filthy hags ! 
 
 Why do you show me this? — A fourth? — Start, eyes! 
 
 What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?— 
 
 Another yet? — A seventh? — I'll see no more: — 
 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
 
 Which shows me many more ; and some I see, 
 
 That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry : 
 
 Horrible sight : Ay, now, I see, 'tis true ; 
 
 For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
 
 And points at them for his.— What, is this so? 
 
 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, 
 And show the best of our delights ; 
 I'll charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform your antic round : 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 
 [Music. — The Witches dance, and vanish. 
 
 Macb. Where are they ? gone ? — Let this pernicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar!— 
 Come in, without there ! 
 
 Enter Lenox. 
 
 Len. What is your grace's will? 
 
 Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ? 
 
 Len. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you ? 
 
 Len. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
 And damn'd, all those that trust them ! — I did hear 
 The galloping of horse : Who was't came by ? 
 
 Len. Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 
 Macb. Fled to England ? 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. [Aside.] Time, thou anticipate my dread exploits : 
 The flighty purpose never is overtook, 
 Unless the deed go with it : From this moment, 
 219 
 
INTERESTING SCENES 
 
 The very firstlings of ray heart shall be 
 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now 
 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done : 
 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 
 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' th' sword 
 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 
 That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool ; 
 
 This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool : 
 
 But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen ? 
 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 
 
 V. KING JOHN. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I.— Prison at Northampton. 
 
 Enter Hubert and Attendants. 
 
 Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 
 Att. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. 
 
 {Exeunt Attendants. 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 
 Enter Arthur. 
 
 ArtH. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
 To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 
 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
 Methinks, nobody should be sad but I • 
 Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I should be merry as the day is long ; 
 220 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 
 
 Indeed, it is not; and I would to heaven, 
 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
 Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day : 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
 That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
 I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. 1 How now, 
 foolish rheum ! [Aside. 
 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
 I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. — 
 Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 
 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 
 Art h. And will you ? 
 
 Hub. And 1 will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, [ake, 
 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
 Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 
 And call it, cunning : Do, an if you will : 
 If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
 221 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
 So much as frown on you ? 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it : 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench its fiery indignation, 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence • 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
 O ! if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believ'd a tongue, but Hubert's. 
 
 [Hubert stamps, and the men enter. 
 
 Hub. Come forth; do as I bid you. 
 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough ? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angrily ; 
 Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 Att. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt . 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 222 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
 In undeserved extremes : See else yourself ; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Art h. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the worlds 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 223 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me ; 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 VI. KING RICHARD II. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE V.— Prison at Pom/ret Castle. 
 
 Enter King Richard. 
 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
 This prison, where I live, unto the world : 
 And, for because the world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 I cannot do it; — Yet I'll hammer it out. 
 My brain 111 prove the female to my soul ; 
 My soul, the father: and these two beget 
 A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
 And these same thoughts people this little world ; 
 In humours, like the people of this world, 
 For no thought is contented. The better sort, — 
 As thoughts of things divine, — are intermixed 
 With scruples, and do set the world itself 
 Against the world : 
 
 As thus, Come, little ones ; and then again, — 
 It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
 To thread the postern of a needles eye. 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 
 May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
 Of this hard world, my ragged prison-walls ; 
 And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
 Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, — 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
 Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars, 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,-— 
 That many have, and others must sit there : 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
 Bearing their own misfortune op the back 
 Of such as have before endur'd the like. 
 Thus plav I, in one person, many people, 
 224 
 
KING RICHARD II. 
 
 And none contented : Sometimes am I king ; 
 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, 
 
 And so I am : Then crushing penury 
 
 Persuades me, I was better when a king ; 
 
 Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by, 
 
 Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
 
 And straight am nothing : — But, whatever I am, 
 
 Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, 
 
 With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd 
 
 With being nothing. — Music do I hear ? [Music. 
 
 Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet music is, 
 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 
 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 
 And here have I the daintiness of ear, 
 
 To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 
 
 But, for the concord of my state and time, 
 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 
 I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ; 
 
 For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock : 
 
 My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs they jar 
 
 Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, 
 
 Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
 
 Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
 
 Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, 
 
 Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, 
 
 Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans, 
 
 Show minutes, hours, and times : — but my time 
 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, 
 
 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'th clock. 
 
 This music mads me, let it sound no more ; 
 
 For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits, 
 
 In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
 
 For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
 
 Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 
 
 Enter Groom. 
 
 Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 
 
 K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
 What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, 
 
 225 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Where no man never comes, but that sad dog 
 That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? 
 
 Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
 When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, 
 With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
 To look upon my sometime master's face. 
 O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, 
 In London streets, that coronation-day, 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary ! 
 That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ; 
 That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! 
 
 K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend, 
 How went he under him ? 
 
 Groom. So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground. 
 
 K. Rich. So proud, that Bolingbroke was on his back ! 
 That jade had eat bread from my royal hand ; 
 This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
 Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, 
 (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
 Of that proud man that did usurp his back ? 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
 Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; 
 And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jaunting Bolingbroke. 
 
 Enter Keeper, with a dish. 
 Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. 
 
 [To the Groom. 
 K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. 
 Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 
 shall say. [Exit. 
 
 Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? 
 K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wert wont to do. 
 Keep. My lord, 1 dare not ; Sir Pierce of Exton, who 
 Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 
 
 K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee ! 
 Patience is stale, and I am weary of it, [Beats the Keeper. 
 Keep. Help, help, help ! 
 
 Enter Ex ton, and Servants, armed. 
 K.Rich.How now ? what means death in this rude assault ? 
 226 
 
HENRY IV. PARTI. 
 
 Villain, thy own band yields thy death's instrument. 
 
 [Snatching a sword, and killing one. 
 Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 
 
 [He kills another, then Ext on strikes him down. 
 That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
 That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
 Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 
 Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
 Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. 
 
 Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : 
 Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good ! 
 For now the devil, that told me — I did well, 
 Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
 This dead king to the living king I'll bear ; — 
 Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. 
 
 VII. KING HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE II.— An Apartment of the Prince's. 
 Enter Henry Pr. of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old 
 sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping 
 upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to de- 
 mand that truly which thou would'st truly know. What 
 a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day ? unless 
 hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks 
 the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, 
 and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame- 
 colour'd taffeta ; I see no reason, why thou should'st be 
 so superfluous to demand the time of the day. 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal : for we, that 
 take purses, go by the moon and seven stars ; and not by 
 Phoebus, — he, that wandering knight so fair. And, I pray 
 thee, sweet wag, when thou art king, — as, God save thy 
 grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have 
 none,)- 
 
 P. Hen. What ! none ? 
 227 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Fal. No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve to be 
 prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, how then ? Come, roundly, roundly. 
 
 Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou . art king, 
 let not us, that are 'squires of the night's body, be called 
 thieves of the day's booty ; let us be — Diana's foresters, 
 gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon : And let 
 men say, we be men of good government ; being governed, 
 as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, 
 under whose countenance we — steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too : for 
 the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and 
 flow like the sea ; being governed, as the sea is, by the 
 moon. As, for proof, now : A purse of gold most reso- 
 lutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely 
 spent on Tuesday morning: got with swearing — Lay by ; 
 and spent with crying Bring in : now, in as low an ebb 
 as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a 
 flow as the ridge of the gallows. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not 
 mine hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 
 
 P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
 castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of 
 durance ? 
 
 Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in thy 
 quips, and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to do 
 with a buff jerkin ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess 
 of the tavern ? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning, many 
 a time and oft. 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part ? 
 
 Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. 
 
 P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would 
 stretch ; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea, and so us'd it, that were it not here apparent, 
 
 that thou art heir apparent, But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, 
 
 shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art 
 king ? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty 
 curb of old father antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou 
 art king, hang a thief. 
 228 
 
HENRY IV. PARTI. 
 
 P. Hen. No ; thou shalt. 
 
 Fal. Shall I ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou 
 shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a 
 rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps with my 
 humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 
 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits : whereof the hangman 
 hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as 
 a gib cat, or a lugged bear. 
 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. 
 
 Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 
 
 P. Hen. What say est thou to a hare, or the melancholy 
 of Moor-ditch ? 
 
 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and art, 
 indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young 
 prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with 
 vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a com- 
 modity of good names were to be bought : An old lord of 
 the council rated me the other day in the street about 
 you, sir ; but I marked him not : and yet he talked very 
 wisely; and in the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in the 
 streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration ; and art, indeed, 
 able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm 
 unto me, Hal, — God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew 
 thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man 
 should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. 
 I must give over this life, and I will give it over ; by the 
 Lord, and I do not, I am a villain ; Til be damn'd for 
 never a king's son in Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack ? 
 
 Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, 111 make one ; and I do not, 
 call me villain, and baffle me. 
 
 P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life'in thee ; from 
 praying, to purse-taking. 
 
 Enter Poins, at a distance. 
 Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no sin for a 
 229 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 man to labour in his vocation. Poins! — Now shall we 
 know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be 
 sav'd by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him ! 
 This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, 
 to a true man. 
 
 P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.— What says Mon- 
 sieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar ? 
 Jack, how agrees the devil and thou about thy soul, that 
 thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madeira, 
 and a cold capon's leg ? 
 
 P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word ; the devil shall 
 have his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of pro- 
 verbs ; He will give the devil his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word 
 with the devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the 
 devil. 
 
 Poms. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by 
 four o'clock, early atGad's-hill: There are pilgrims going 
 to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to 
 London with fat purses : I have visors for you all ; you 
 have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in 
 Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in 
 Eastcheap ; we may do it as secure as sleep : If you will 
 go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns ; if you will not, 
 tarry at home, and be hanged. 
 
 Fal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home, and go 
 not, I'll hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. You will, chops ? 
 
 Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? 
 
 P. Hen. Who ! I rob ? la thief? Not I, by my faith. 
 
 Fal. There is neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
 fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood-royal, 
 if thou darest not cry, Stand, for ten shillings. 
 
 P. Hen. Well then, once in my days, I'll be a mad- cap. 
 
 Fal. Why, that's well said. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, 111 be a traitor then, when thou 
 art king. 
 
 P. Hen. I care not. 
 230 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me 
 alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this adven- 
 ture, that he shall go. 
 
 Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, 
 and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may 
 move, and what he hears may be believed ; that the true 
 prince may (for recreation sake,) prove a false thief ; for 
 the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell : 
 You shall find me in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All- 
 hallown summer. [Exit Falstaff. 
 
 Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to- 
 morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage 
 alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob 
 those men that we have already way-laid ; yourself, and 
 I, will not be there : and when they have the booty, if you 
 and I do not rob them, cut this head from off my shoulders. 
 
 P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting 
 forth? 
 
 Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, 
 and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our 
 pleasure to fail ; and then will they adventure upon the 
 exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner 
 achieved, but we'll set upon them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like that they will know us, by 
 our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, 
 to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them 
 in the wood ; our visors we will change after we leave 
 them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, 
 to iramask our noted outward garments. 
 
 P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. 
 
 Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as 
 true bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for the third, 
 if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. 
 The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies 
 that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at sup- 
 per: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, 
 what blows, what extremities he endured ; and, in the re- 
 proof of this, lies the jest. 
 231 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee ; provide us all things 
 necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; 
 there I'll sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
 The unyok'd humour of your idleness : 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun ; 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, 
 And nothing pleaseth, but rare accidents. 
 So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; 
 Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE IV.— Eastcheap. The Boar's Head. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 
 
 Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ? 
 Fal. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance 
 too ! marry, and Amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. — 
 Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-socks, and mend 
 them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards ! — Give 
 me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there no virtue extant ? 
 
 [He drinks. 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter ? 
 232 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 pitiful-hearted Titan ! that melted at the sweet tale of the 
 sun ? if thou didst, then behold that compound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too : There is 
 nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man : Yet a 
 coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it ; a vil- 
 lainous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou 
 wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the 
 face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live 
 not three good men unhanged in England ; and one of 
 them is fat, and grows old : God help the while ! A bad 
 world, I say! — I would, I were a weaver; I could sing 
 psalms or any thing : — A plague of all cowards ! I say still. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, wool-sack ? what mutter you ? 
 
 Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom 
 with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee 
 like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face 
 more. You prince of Wales ! 
 
 P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that ; and 
 Poins there ? [To Poins. 
 
 Poins. Zounds ! ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, 
 I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damn'd ere I call 
 thee coward ; but I would give a thousand pound, I could 
 run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the 
 shoulders, you care not who sees your back : Call you 
 that backing of your friends ? A plague upon such back- 
 ing ! Give me them that will face me. — Give me a cup 
 of sack : — I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou 
 drunk'st last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards still, say I! 
 
 [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. What's the matter ! There be four of us here have 
 ta'en a thousand pounds this morning. 
 
 P. Hen. Where is it, Jack ? where is it ? 
 
 Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is : a hundred upon 
 poor four of us. 
 
 P. Hen. What ! a hundred, man ? 
 233 
 
INTERESTING SCENES* 
 
 Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with 
 a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd by 
 miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet ; four, 
 through the hose ; my buckler cut through and through ; 
 my sword hacked like a hand-saw, ecce signum ! [Shews 
 his sword.] I never dealt better since I was a man : all 
 would not do. A plague of all cowards ! — Let them speak : 
 if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, 
 and the sons of darkness. 
 
 P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ? 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some dozen, — 
 
 Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 
 
 Gads. And bound them. 
 
 Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them ; 
 or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men 
 set upon us, — 
 
 Fal. And unbound the rest, and then came in the other. 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ? 
 
 Fal. All ? I know not what ye call, all ; but if I fought 
 not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish ; if there 
 were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then 
 am I no two-legged creature. 
 
 Poins* Pray God, you have not murdered some of 
 them. 
 
 Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have peppered 
 two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two rogues in 
 buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if I tell thee a 
 lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my 
 old ward; — here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four 
 rogues in buckram let drive at me, — 
 
 P. Hen. What, four? thou saidst but two, even now. 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at 
 me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven 
 points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Seven ? why, there were but four, even now. 
 
 Fal. In buckram. 
 
 Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 
 234 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have more 
 anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine 
 in buckram, that I told thee of, — 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, — 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose* 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground : But I follow'd me close, 
 came in foot and hand ; and, with a thought, seven of the 
 eleven I paid. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
 out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten 
 knaves in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive 
 at me ; — for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see 
 thy hand. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets them ; 
 gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay- 
 brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool ; thou whoreson, 
 obscene, greasy tallow-catch, 
 
 Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? is not the 
 truth the truth ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men in 
 Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy 
 hand ? come, tell us your reason ; What sayest thou to this ? 
 
 Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 
 
 Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at the strap- 
 pado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you 
 on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! If 
 reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would not give 
 you a reason upon compulsion — I ! 
 
 P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this san- 
 guine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, 
 this huge hill of flesh; 
 
 Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
 neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — O, for breath 
 to utter what is like thee ! — you tailor's yard, you sheath, 
 
 you bow-case, you vile standing tuck ; 
 
 235 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again : 
 and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear 
 me speak but this. 
 
 Poins. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four; you bound 
 them, and were masters of their wealth .—Mark now, how 
 a plain tale shall put you down. — Then did we two set 
 on you four ; and, with a word out-faced you from your 
 prize, and have it ; yea, and can show it you here in the 
 house: — and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as 
 nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, 
 and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What 
 a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and 
 then say, it was in fight ! What trick, what device, what 
 starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from 
 this open and apparent shame ? 
 
 Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hast thou now? 
 
 FaL By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made 
 ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: Was it for me to kill 
 the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon the true prince ? 
 Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules : but be- 
 ware instinct ; the lion will not touch the true prince. 
 Instinct is a great matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I 
 shall think the better of myself and thee, during my life ; 
 I, for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by 
 
 the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 
 
 Hostess, clap-to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-mor- 
 row. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, All the titles 
 of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall we be 
 merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? 
 
 P. Hen. Content ; — and the argument shall be thy run- 
 ning away. 
 
 FaL Ah ! no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 Host. My lord the prince,- 
 
 P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess? what say'st 
 thou to me? 
 
 Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court 
 at door, would speak with you ; he says, he comes from 
 your father. 
 236 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal 
 man, and send him back again to my mother, 
 
 Fal. What manner of man is he ? 
 
 Host. An old man. 
 
 Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? — 
 Shall I give him his answer? 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee do, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Taith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit, 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs, by'r lady, you fought fair; — so did 
 you, Peto ; — so did you, Bardolph ; — you are lions too, 
 you ran away upon instinct ; you will not touch the true 
 prince ; no, — fye ! 
 
 Bard. Taith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, How came Falstaffs 
 sword so hacked ? 
 
 Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger ; and said, he 
 would swear truth out of England, but he would make 
 you believe it was done in fight ; and persuaded us to do 
 the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass, 
 to make them bleed ; and then to beslubber our garments 
 with it, and to swear it was the blood of true men. I did 
 that I did not these seven years before, I blushed to hear 
 his monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen 
 years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since 
 thou hast blushed extempore : Thou hadst fire and sword 
 on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away; What instinct 
 hadst thou for it? 
 
 Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? Do you 
 behold these exhalations ? 
 
 P. Hen. I do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend? 
 
 P. Hen. Hot livers, and cold purses. 
 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. — 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, 
 my sweet creature of bombast ? How long is't ago, Jack, 
 since thou sawest thine own knee ? 
 
 237 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Fal. My own knee ? When I was about thy years, Hal, 
 I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could have crept 
 into any alderman's thumb-ring: A plague of sighing 
 and grief ! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's 
 villainous news abroad : here was sir John Bracy from 
 your father ; you must go to the court in the morning. 
 That same mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of 
 Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made 
 Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman 
 upon the cross of a Welch hook, — What, a plague, call 
 you him ? 
 
 Poins. O, Glendower. 
 
 Fal. Owen, Owen ; the same ; — and his son-in-law, 
 Mortimer ; and old Northumberland ; and that sprightly 
 Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horse-back up a hill 
 perpendicular, 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
 pistol kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fal. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him ; he will 
 not run. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
 him so for running ? 
 
 Fal. A horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will not 
 budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, 
 and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more : Wor- 
 cester is stolen away to-night ; thy father's beard is turned 
 white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap 
 as stinking mackarel, 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, His like, if there come a hot June, 
 and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads 
 as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 
 
 Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like, we 
 shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, Hal, art 
 not thou horribly afeard ? thou being heir apparent, could 
 the world pick thee out three such enemies again, as that 
 fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower ? 
 Art thou not horribly afeard ? doth not thy blood thrill at it ? 
 238 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy instinct. 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when 
 thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an 
 answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 
 me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall I ? Content : — This chair shall be my state, 
 this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden 
 sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown 
 for a pitiful bald crown ! 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, 
 now shalt thou be moved — Give me a cup of sack, to 
 make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have 
 w ept ; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in 
 king Cambyses' vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility. 
 
 Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith. 
 
 Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are 
 vain. 
 
 Host . O, the father, how he holds his countenance ! 
 
 Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 
 
 Host . O rare ! he doth it as like one of those harlotry 
 players, as I ever see. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle-brain — 
 Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, 
 but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camo- 
 mile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet 
 youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That 
 thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly 
 my own opinion ; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine 
 eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth 
 warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point ; 
 Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? Shall the 
 blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat black- 
 berries ? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of 
 England prove a thief, and take purses ? a question to be 
 asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often 
 heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name 
 239 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth 
 defile; so doth the company thou keep'st: for, Harry, 
 now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears ; not in 
 pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but in woes 
 also : — And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often 
 noted in thy company, but I know not his name. 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ? 
 
 Fal. A good portly man, f faith, and a corpulent ; of a 
 cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; 
 and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining 
 to threescore ; and now, I remember me, his name is 
 Falstaff : If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth 
 me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree 
 may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, 
 peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff : 
 him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou 
 naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month ? 
 
 P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou stand 
 for me, and I'll play my father. 
 
 Fal. Depose me ? — If thou dost it half so gravely, so 
 majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the 
 heels for a rabbit- sucker, or a poulterer's hare, 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 
 
 Fal. And here I stand : — -judge, my masters. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry ? whence come you ? 
 
 Fah My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. 
 
 Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false. Nay, I'll tickle 
 
 ye for a young prince, i' faith. 
 
 P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth 
 ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from 
 grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a 
 fat old man : a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost 
 thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting 
 hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that 
 huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that 
 roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that 
 reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that 
 vanity in years ? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and 
 drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon 
 and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in craft ? wherein crafty, 
 240 
 
HENRY IV. PART I. 
 
 but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? 
 wherein worthy, but in nothing? 
 
 Fal. I would, your grace would take me with you ; 
 Whom means your grace ? 
 
 P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, 
 Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 
 
 Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 P. Hen. I know, thou dost. 
 
 Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in my- 
 self, were to say more than I know. That he is old, (the 
 more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it : but that he 
 is (saving your reverence,) a whoremaster, that I utterly 
 deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked ! 
 If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host 
 that I know, is damned : if to be fat be to be hated, then 
 Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; 
 banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : but for sweet 
 Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant 
 Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, 
 old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; 
 banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 
 
 P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess and Bardolph. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph, running. 
 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord, the sheriff, with a most 
 monstrous watch, is at the door. 
 
 Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I have much 
 to say in behalf of that Falstaff. 
 
 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! — 
 
 Fal. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick : 
 What's the matter? 
 
 Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door : 
 they are come to search the house ; Shall I let them in? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of 
 gold, a counterfeit : thou art essentially mad, without seem- 
 ing so. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. 
 
 Fal. I deny your major : if you will deny the sheriff, 
 241 M 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart as well 
 as another man, a plague on my bringing up ! I hope, I 
 shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another. 
 
 P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ; — the rest walk 
 up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good 
 conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I have had : but their date is out, and 
 therefore I'll hide me. 
 
 [Exeunt all but £Ae Prince and Poins, 
 
 P. Hen. Call in the sheriff, » 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 Now, master sheriff ; what's your will with me ? 
 
 Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
 Hath follow'd certain men unto this house, 
 
 P. Hen. What men ? 
 
 Sher* One of them is well known, my gracious lord, 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Car. As fat as butter, 
 
 P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here ; 
 For I myself at this time have employed him. 
 And, sheriff, I engage my word to thee, 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
 Send him to answer thee, or any man, 
 For any thing he shall be charg'd withal ; 
 And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 Sher. I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men, 
 He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. 
 
 Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good morrow ; Is it not ? 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it to be two o'clock. 
 
 [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier, 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. 
 Go, call him forth. 
 
 Poins. Falstaff ! fast asleep behind the arras, and 
 
 snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath ! Search his 
 pockets. [Poins searches."] — What hast thou found? 
 
 Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
 242 
 
HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 P. Hen. Let's see what they be: Read them. 
 
 Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
 Item, Sauce, 4d. 
 Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
 Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
 Item, Bread, a halfpenny. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth of 
 bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What there is 
 else, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage : there 
 let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning : 
 we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. 
 I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot ; and, I know, 
 his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money 
 shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me be- 
 times in the morning ; and so good morrow, Poins. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 +-++*-+++++>*+<*^*>+s**+*^*^*-+'++- 
 
 KING HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I.— London. A Room in the Palaee. 
 
 Enter King Henry in his night-gown, with a Page 
 
 K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick ; 
 But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 
 And well consider of them : Make good speed. — [Exit P. 
 How many thousands of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
 And hush with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
 Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 And huTd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, 
 In loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch, 
 243 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell? 
 Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 With deafning clamours in the slipp'ry clouds, 
 That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And, in the calmest and the stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 
 Enter Warwick and Surrey. 
 
 War. Many good morrows to your majesty! 
 
 K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ? 
 
 War. 'Tis one o' clock, and past. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, then, good morrow to you. Well, my 
 lords, 
 Have you read o ? er the letters that I sent you? 
 
 War. We have, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom 
 How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow, 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 
 War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd ; 
 Which to his former strength may be restor'd, 
 
 With good advice, and little medicine:- 
 
 My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd* 
 
 K. Hen. O heaven! that one might read the book of 
 And see the revolution of the times [ fate ; 
 
 Make mountains level, and the continent 
 (Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself 
 Into the sea! and, other times, to see 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen, 
 The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, 
 244 
 
HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 
 "Tis not ten years gone, 
 
 Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, 
 
 Did feast together; and, in two years after, 
 
 Were they at wars : It is but eight years since 
 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 
 Who, like a brother, toil'd in my affairs, 
 
 And laid his love and life under my foot ; 
 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 
 (You,, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To Warw. 
 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimful of tears, 
 
 Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy ? 
 
 Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which 
 
 My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ; — 
 
 Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent ; 
 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
 
 That I and greatness were compeird to kiss : 
 
 The time will come, thus did he follow it, 
 
 The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 
 Shall break into corruption : so went on 
 
 Foretelling this same time's condition, 
 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceased : 
 The which observed, a man may prophesy, 
 With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
 As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds, 
 And weak beginnings, lie intreasured . 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; 
 And, by the necessary form of this, 
 King Richard might create a perfect guess, 
 That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
 Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness 
 Which should not find a ground to root upon, 
 Unless on you. 
 
 K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ? 
 
 Then let us meet them like necessities : — 
 And that same word even now cries out on us : 
 245 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. It cannot be, my lord ; 
 
 Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grace, 
 To go to bed ; upon my life, my lord, 
 The powers that you already have sent forth, 
 Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
 To comfort you the more, I have received 
 A certain instance that Glendower is dead. 
 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ; 
 And these unseasoned hours, perforce, must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 K. Hen. I will take your counsel ; 
 
 And, were these inward wars once out of hand, 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt . 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE IV.— Westminster. The Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, and 
 Gloucester. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give successful end 
 To this debate that bleedeth at our. doors, 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields, 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is addressed, oivr power collected, 
 Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
 And every thing lies level to our wish : 
 Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
 And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, 
 Come underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Glo'ster, 
 
 Where is the prince your brother? 
 
 Glou. 1 think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied ? 
 
 Glou. I do not know, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with 
 him? 
 246 
 
HENRY IV. PARTIL 
 
 Glou. No, my good lord ; he is in presence here. 
 
 Cla. What would my lord and father? 
 
 K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. 
 How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother ? 
 He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas ; 
 Thou hast a better place in his affection, 
 Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy ; 
 And noble offices thou may'st effect 
 Of mediation, after I am dead, 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren :•— 
 Therefore, omit him not ; blunt not his love : 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 
 By seeming cold, or careless of his will* 
 For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity : 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint ; 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observed 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth : 
 But being moody, give him line and scope ; 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; 
 A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in • 
 That the united vessel of their blood, 
 Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
 (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) 
 Shall never leak, though it does work as strong 
 As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. 
 
 Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. 
 
 K.Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him,Thomas ? 
 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell that ? 
 
 Cla. With Poins, and others his continual followers. 
 
 K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ; 
 And he, the noble image of my youth, 
 Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; 
 247 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, 
 In forms imaginary, th' unguided days, 
 And rotten times, that you shall look upon, 
 When I am sleeping with my ancestors : 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
 When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet together, 
 O, with what wings shall his affection fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite : 
 The prince but studies his companions, 
 Like a strange tongue ; wherein, to gain the language, 
 'Tis needful, that the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon, and learn'd: which once attained, 
 Your highness knows, comes to no further use, 
 But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time, 
 Cast off his followers: and their memory 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
 By which his grace must meet the lives of others ; 
 Turning past evils to advantages. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb 
 In the dead carrion. — Who's here ? Westmoreland ! 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 West . Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness 
 Added to that which I am to deliver ! 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
 Are brought to the correction of your law; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, 
 But peace puts forth her olive everywhere. 
 The manner how this action hath been borne, 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
 With every course, in his particular. 
 
 K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news. 
 
 Enter Harcourt. 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ! 
 And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
 
 248 
 
HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 As those that I am come to tell you of! 
 
 The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
 
 With a great power of English and of Scots, 
 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
 
 The manner and true order of the fight, 
 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make 
 me sick ? 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no foody — 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich, 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
 And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : — 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. 
 
 GIou. Comfort your majesty ! 
 
 Cla . O, my royal father ! 
 
 West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up ! 
 
 War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these fits 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be well. 
 
 Cla . No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs, 
 Th' incessant care and labour of his mind 
 Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. 
 
 Glon. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
 Unfather'd heirs and loathly birds of nature : 
 The seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between : 
 And the old folk, times doting chronicles, 
 Say, it did so, a little time before 
 That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 
 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 Glou. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
 Into some other chamber : Softly, 'pray. 
 
 [They convey the King into an inner part of the room, 
 and place him on a bed. 
 249 M 2 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here, 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 
 P. Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad ! 
 How doth the king ? 
 
 Glou. Exceeding ill. 
 
 P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ? 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 Glou. He altered much upon the hearing it. 
 
 P. Hen. If he be sick with joy, 
 He'll recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords : — Sweet prince, 
 speak low; 
 The king, your father, is dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 
 War. Wiirt please your grace to go along with us ? 
 
 P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king. 
 
 [Exeunt all but P. Henry. 
 Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
 Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
 O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now ! 
 Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
 As he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound, 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty ! 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 
 That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move. — My gracious lord ! my father !— 
 This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep, 
 250 
 
HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
 Shall, O dear father ! pay thee plenteously : 
 My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — 
 
 [Putting it on his head. 
 Which heaven shall guard : And put the world's whole 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force [strength 
 
 This lineal honour from me : This from thee 
 Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 
 
 K.Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! 
 
 Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 
 
 Cla. Doth the king call ? 
 
 War. What would your majesty ? How fares your grace ? 
 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords ? 
 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, 
 Wlio undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 K. Hen. The prince of Wales ? Where is he ? let me 
 see him. 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 
 Glou. He came not through the chamber where we staid. 
 
 K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from my 
 pillow ? 
 
 War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
 
 K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go, seek 
 him out. 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 
 My sleep my death ? 
 
 Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. 
 
 [Exit Warwick. 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease 
 And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you are ! 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt, 
 When gold becomes her object ! 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with 
 Their bones with industry ; [care, 
 
 251 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
 The cankerd heaps of strange atchiev'd gold ; 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 Their sons with arts and martial exercises : 
 When, like the bee, tolling from every flower 
 The virtuous sweets ; 
 
 Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, 
 Are murder'd for our pains ! This bitter taste 
 Yields his engrossments to the dying father. — 
 
 Enter Warwick. 
 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend, sickness, hath determin'd me? 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
 With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 
 K.Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown? 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry. 
 
 Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry : — 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind, 
 That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours, 
 Were thine without offence ; and, at my death, 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
 Thy life did manifest, thou iov'dst me not, 
 And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts 5 
 252 
 
HENRY IV. PART II 
 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
 
 To stab at half an hour of my frail life. 
 
 What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
 
 Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself ; 
 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 
 Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, 
 
 Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 
 
 Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
 
 Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. 
 
 Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
 
 For now a time is come to mock at form ; 
 
 Henry the Fifth is crown'd :-— Up, vanity ! 
 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
 
 And to the English court assemble now, 
 
 From every region, apes of idleness! 
 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: 
 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
 
 Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt ; 
 
 England shall give him office, honour, might : 
 
 For the Fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks 
 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 
 Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. 
 
 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
 What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ? 
 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 
 P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears, 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, [Kneeling. 
 
 1 had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally, 
 Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, 
 Than as your honour, and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 (Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit 
 
 253 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! 
 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, 
 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty, 
 
 How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 
 
 O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
 
 And never live to show th' incredulous world 
 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
 
 (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
 
 I spake unto the crown, as having sense, 
 
 And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending 
 
 Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 
 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold: 
 
 Other , less fine in carat, is more precious, 
 
 Preserving life in med'eine potable ; 
 
 But thou, most fine, most honour' d, most renown d, 
 
 Hast eat thy bearer up, — Thus, my most royal liege, 
 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
 
 To try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 
 That had before my face murder'd my father,— 
 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 
 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is, 
 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 K. Hen. O my son ! 
 Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence, 
 That thou mighfst win the more thy father's love, 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, 
 By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well, 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
 254 
 
HENRY IV. PART II. 
 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, 
 
 Eut as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand; 
 
 And I had many living, to upbraid 
 
 My gain of it by their assistances ; 
 
 Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed, 
 
 Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears, 
 
 Thou see'st, with peril I have answered: 
 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 
 Acting that argument ; and now my death 
 
 Changes the mode ! for what in me was purchased, 
 
 Falls upon thee in a much fairer sort; 
 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 
 Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, 
 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
 
 And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends, 
 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; 
 
 By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, 
 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 
 To be again displac'd : which to avoid, 
 
 I cut them off ; and had a purpose now 
 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
 
 Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
 
 Too near into my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
 
 Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
 
 With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out, 
 
 May waste the memory of former days. 
 
 More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, 
 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 
 How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 
 
 And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain, and right, must my possession be: 
 Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, and 
 
 others. 
 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. 
 Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father ! 
 
 255 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings, is flown [John ; 
 From this bare, wither'd trunk: Upon thy sight, 
 
 My worldly business makes a period. 
 
 Where is my lord of Warwick? 
 
 P. Hen. My lord of Warwick! — 
 
 K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
 Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? 
 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 
 K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life must 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, [end. 
 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land : — 
 But, bear me to that chamber; there Fll lie; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 
 
 
 IX. KING HENRY V. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
 
 Enter three Soldiers, John Bates, Alexander 
 Court, and Michael Williams, to the King. 
 
 Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning 
 which breaks yonder ? 
 
 Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause to 
 desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day ; but, I 
 think, we shall never see the end of it. — Who goes there ? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you? 
 
 K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gentle- 
 man : I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? 
 
 K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look 
 to be washed off the next tide. 
 
 Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ? 
 
 K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should ; for, though 
 I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a man, as I am: 
 the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element 
 256 
 
HENRY V 
 
 shows to him, as it doth to me ; all his senses have but 
 human conditions : his ceremonies laid by, in his naked- 
 ness he appears but a man ; and though his affections are 
 higher mounted than ours, yet when they stoop, they stoop 
 with the like wing ; therefore when he sees reason of fears, 
 as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as 
 ours are : Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with 
 any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should 
 dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage he will : 
 but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself 
 in the Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, 
 and I by him, at all adventures, so he were quit here. 
 
 K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of 
 the king; I think, he would not wish himself any where 
 but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone ! so should he 
 be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved. 
 
 K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill to wish him 
 here alone ; howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's 
 minds : Methinks, I could not die any where so contented 
 as in the king's company; his cause being just, and his 
 quarrel honourable. 
 
 Will. That's more than we know. 
 
 Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for we 
 know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects ; if his 
 cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime 
 of it out of us. 
 
 Will. But if the cause be not good, the king himself 
 hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs, and 
 arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together 
 at the latter day, and cry all, We died at such a place ; 
 some, swearing ; some, crying for a surgeon ; some, upon 
 their wives left poor behind them ; some, upon the debts 
 they owe ; some, upon their children rawly left. I am 
 afraid there are few die well, that die in battle ; for how 
 can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is 
 their argument ? Now, if these men do not die well, it will 
 be a black matter for the king that led them to it ; whom 
 to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. 
 
 K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about 
 257 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the im- 
 putation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be im- 
 posed upon his father that sent him ; or if a servant, under 
 his master's command, transporting a sum of money, be 
 assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, 
 you may call the business of the master the author of the 
 servant's damnation : — But this is not so : the king is not 
 bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the 
 father of his son, nor the master of his servant ; for they 
 purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. 
 Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if 
 it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with 
 all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them 
 the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder ; some, of 
 beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, 
 making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the 
 gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if 
 these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punish- 
 ment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings 
 to fly from God : war is his beadle, war is his vengeance ; 
 so that here men are punished, for before-breach of the 
 king's laws, in now the king's quarrel : where they feared 
 the death, they have borne life away ; and where they 
 would be safe, they perish : Then if they die unprovided, 
 no more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he 
 was before guilty of those impieties for the which they 
 are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's, but 
 every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every 
 soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash 
 every mote out of his conscience : and dying so, death is to 
 him advantage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, 
 wherein such preparation was gained : and, in him that 
 escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free 
 an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, 
 and to teach others how they should prepare. 
 
 Will. Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon 
 his own head, the king is not to answer for it. , 
 
 Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and 
 yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be 
 ransomed. 
 258 
 
HENRY V. 
 
 Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but, 
 when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we 
 ne'er the wiser. 
 
 K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word 
 after. 
 
 Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then ! That's a perilous 
 shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displea- 
 sure can do against a monarch! You may as well go 
 about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with 
 a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after ! 
 Come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; I should 
 be angry with you, if the time were convenient. 
 
 Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live, 
 
 K. Hen. I embrace it. 
 
 Will. How shall I know thee again ? 
 
 K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it 
 in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, 
 I will make it my quarrel. 
 
 Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine. 
 
 K. Hen. There 
 
 Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever thou 
 come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, 
 by this hand, I will give thee a box on the ear. 
 
 K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 
 
 Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the 
 king's company. 
 
 Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. 
 
 Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends ; we have 
 French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon. 
 
 K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French 
 crowns to one, they will beat us ; for they bear them on 
 their shoulders : But it is no English treason, to cut French 
 crowns ; and, to-morrow, the king himself will be a clipper. 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins, lay on the king ; — he must bear all. 
 O hard condition ! twin-born with greatness, 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool, 
 259 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing ! 
 
 What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, 
 
 That private men enjoy ! 
 
 And what have kings, that privates have not too, 
 
 Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
 
 And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? 
 
 What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more 
 
 Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ? 
 
 What are thy rents ? what are thy comings in ? 
 
 ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
 What is the soul of adoration ? 
 
 Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men ? 
 
 Wherein thou art less happy, being feared, 
 
 Than they in fearing. 
 
 What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 
 
 But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, 
 
 And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown from adulation ? 
 
 Will it give place to flexure and low bending ? 
 
 Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, 
 
 Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, 
 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 
 
 1 am a king, that find thee ; and I know, 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, 
 The farced title running 'fore the king, 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp, 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world ; 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; 
 Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, 
 Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ; 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 But, like a lacquey, from the rise to set, 
 Sweats in the eye of Phcebus, and all night 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn, 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; 
 260 
 
HEx\RY V 
 
 And follows so the ever-running year 
 
 With profitable labour to his grave : 
 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, 
 
 Hath the fore-hand and 'vantage of a king. 
 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
 
 Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, 
 
 What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, 
 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 
 Enter Erpingham. 
 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
 K. Hen. Good old knight, 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent : 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 Eiy. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts ! 
 Possess them not with fear ; take from them now 
 The sense of reck'ning, if th' opposed numbers 
 Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord, 
 
 not to-day, think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown ! 
 
 1 Richard's body have interred new ; 
 
 And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 
 Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 
 Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
 Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
 Tow'rd heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built 
 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do : 
 Though all that I can do is nothing worth ; 
 Since that my penitence comes after all. 
 Imploring pardon* 
 
 26l 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 X. KING RICHARD III. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE IV.— A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter Clarence and Brakenbury 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? 
 
 Cla. O, I have pass'd a miserable night ; 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; 
 So full of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you, 
 tell me. 
 
 Cla. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And in my company my brother Glo'ster, 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches ; thence we look'd tow'rd England, 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought, that Gio'ster stumbled; and, in falling, 
 Struck me, that sought to stay him, over-board, 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 O Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea, 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by, 
 262 
 
RICHARD III. 
 
 Brak, Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 
 
 Cla. Methought, I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? 
 
 Cla. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life ; 
 
 0, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 
 I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
 Who cry'd aloud, — What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence! 
 And so he vanish'd: Then came wand 'ring by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
 Clarence is come, — false, fleeting perjur'd Clarence?—* 
 That staWd me in the field by Tewksbury ; — 
 Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments /— 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, that with the very noise, 
 
 1, trembling, wak'd ; and, for a season after, 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell; 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ; 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it, 
 
 Cla. O, Brakenbury, I have done those things,— 
 That now give evidence against my soul, 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me ! — 
 
 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
 But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, 
 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 
 
 O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children !— > 
 
 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 263 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Brak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good 
 rest ! [Clarence sleeps. 
 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noontide night. 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations, 
 They often feel a world of restless cares : 
 So that, between their titles, and low name, 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two Murderers. 
 
 1 Murd. Ho ! who's there ? 
 
 Brak. In God's name, what art thou ? how cam'st thou 
 hither ? 
 
 2 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came 
 hither on my legs. 
 
 Brak. What ! so brief ? 
 
 1 Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. — Let him 
 see our commission, and talk no more. 
 
 Brak. [Reads.] I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands: — 
 I will not reason what is meant hereby, 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are the keys ; — there sits the duke asleep— 
 I'll to the king ; and signify to him, 
 That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 
 
 1 Murd. You may, sir ; 'tis a point of wisdom : Fare 
 you well. [Exit Brak en. 
 
 2 Murd. What ! shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 
 
 J Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when lie 
 
 wakes. 
 2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never 
 wake until the great judgment-day. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath 
 bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd. What ! art thou afraid ? 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; but 
 to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant 
 can defend me. 
 
 264 
 
RICHARD III. 
 
 1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute. 
 
 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Murd. Ill back to the duke of Glo'ster, and tell him so. 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this 
 holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont to hold 
 me but while one would tell twenty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 
 
 2 Murd. Taith, some certain dregs of conscience are 
 yet within me ? 
 
 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's done. 
 
 2 Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 
 
 2 Murd. In the duke of Glo'ster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give us our 
 reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few, or 
 none, will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again ? 
 
 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it; it is a dangerous thing, 
 it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it ac- 
 cuseth him ; a man cannot swear, but it checks him ; a 
 man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects 
 him : 'Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in 
 a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles : it made me 
 once restore a purse of gold, that by chance I found ; it 
 beggars any man that keeps it : it is turned out of towns 
 and cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man, that 
 means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live 
 without it. 
 
 1 Murd. Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuad- 
 ing me not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him 
 not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh. 
 
 1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. 
 
 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects his re- 
 putation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 
 
 1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts of 
 thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt, in 
 the next room. 
 
 2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop of him. 
 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 
 
 Q65 N 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 2Murd. Strike! 
 
 1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. 
 
 Cla. Where art thou, keeper ? give me a cup of wine 
 
 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon 
 
 Cla. In God's name, what art thou? 
 
 1 Murd. A man, as you are. 
 
 Cla. But not, as I am, royal. 
 
 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 
 
 Cla. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. 
 
 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. 
 
 Cla. How darkly, and how deadly, dost thou speak ! 
 Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ? 
 Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ? 
 
 Both. To, to, to, 
 
 Cla. To murder me ? 
 
 Both. Ay, ay. 
 
 Cla. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. 
 Cla. I shall be reconciled to him again. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die. 
 Cla. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men* 
 
 To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ? 
 Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? 
 What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
 Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounced 
 The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 
 Before I be convict by course" of law, 
 To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
 I charge you, as you hope to have redemption, 
 That you depart, and lay no hands on me; 
 The deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 
 
 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. 
 Cla. Erroneous vassals ! the great King of kings 
 
 Hath in the table of his law commanded, 
 That Thou shalt do no murder; Wilt thou then 
 Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's ? 
 Take heed ! for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
 266 
 
RICHARD III. 
 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, 
 For false forswearing and for murder too : 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight 
 In quarrel with the house of Lancaster. 
 
 1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
 Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treach'rous blade, 
 Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 
 2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend. 
 1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, 
 
 When thou hast broke it in such high degree ? 
 
 Cla. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ? 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
 He sends you not to murder me for this ; 
 For in that sin he is as deep as I, 
 If God will be avenged for the deed, 
 O, know you, that he doth it publicly; 
 Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course, 
 To cut off those that have offended him. 
 
 1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister, 
 When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 
 
 Cla. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, 
 Provoke us hither now, to slaughter thee. 
 
 Cla. If you do love my brother, hate not me ; 
 I am his brother, and I love him well. 
 If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, 
 And I will send you to my brother Glo'ster ; 
 Who will reward you better for my life, 
 Than Edward will for tidings of my death. [ vou - 
 
 2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Glo'ster hates 
 Cla . Oh, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear : 
 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Both. Ay, so we will. 
 
 Cla. Tell him, when that our princely father York 
 Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, 
 And charged us, from his soul, to love each other, 
 He little thought of this divided friendship : 
 Bid Glo'ster think on this, and he will weep. 
 
 1 Murd. Ay, millstones ; as he lesson'd us to weep. 
 267 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Cla. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 
 
 1 Murd. As snow in harvest. — You deceive yourself; 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Cla. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune, 
 And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
 That he would labour my delivery. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, rny 
 Cla. Have you that holy feeling in your souls, [lord. 
 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God; 
 And are you yet to your own souls so blind, 
 That you will war with God by murd'ring me? — 
 O, sirs, consider, he that set you on 
 To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 
 
 2 Murd. What shall we do ? 
 
 Cla. Relent, and save your souls, 
 
 1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. 
 Cla. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — 
 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
 
 Being pent from liberty, as I am now, — 
 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,— 
 
 Would not entreat for life ?-r- 
 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; 
 
 O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, 
 
 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, 
 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
 
 A begging prince what beggar pities not ? 
 
 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that; if all this will not do. 
 
 [Stabs him, 
 I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [ Exit with body. 
 
 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd! 
 How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 
 
 Re-enter first Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now ? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st 
 
 me not? 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you've been. 
 
 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother I 
 
 26S 
 
HENRY VIII. 
 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; 
 
 For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 
 
 1 Murd. So do not I ; go, coward, as thou art. — 
 Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole* 
 Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
 And, when I have my meed, I must away; 
 For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. 
 
 XL KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE U.-^Antichamber to the King's 
 Apartment. 
 
 Wolsey alone. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man ; To-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory, 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than war or women have 5 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. — 
 
 Enter Cbomwell, amazedly. 
 
 Why, how now, Cromwell ? 
 Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 
 269 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Wol What! amaz'd 
 
 At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder, 
 A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, 
 I am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace ? 
 
 Wol. Why, well; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myself now ; and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities — 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, 
 I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
 These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honour • 
 O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 
 
 Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it. 
 
 Wol. I hope, I have : I am able now, methinks, 
 (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 
 To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
 Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad ? 
 
 Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 
 Wol. God bless him ! 
 
 Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord chancellor in your place. 
 
 Wol. That's somewhat sudden : — 
 
 But he's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
 For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
 May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
 What more? 
 
 Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome ; 
 
 Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Wol. That's news indeed. 
 
 Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was view'd in open, as his queen, 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 270 
 
HENRY VIII. 
 
 Wol. There was the weightthat pull'd me down. O Crom- 
 The king has gone beyond me; all my glories [well, 
 
 In that one woman I have lost for ever. 
 No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, 
 Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
 That sun, I pray, may never set ! 1 have told him 
 What, and how true thou art : he will advance thee ; 
 Some little memory of me will stir him, 
 (I know his noble nature,) not to let 
 Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell, 
 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O, my lord, 
 
 Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
 Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
 The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
 For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, 
 Say Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,—* 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
 By that sin fell the angels, how can man then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
 Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: 
 271 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's, 
 
 Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 
 
 And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in: 
 
 There take an inventory of all I have, 
 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 
 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
 
 Crorn. Good sir, have patience. 
 
 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE IE— Kimbolt on. 
 
 Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between 
 Griffith and Patience. 
 
 Griff. How does your grace ? 
 
 Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death : 
 
 My legs, like loaded branches, bow to the earth : 
 Willing to leave their burden : Reach a chair ; — 
 So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead ? 
 
 Griff. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace, 
 Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. 
 
 Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died ; 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
 For my example. 
 
 Griff. Well, the voice goes, madam : 
 
 For after the stout earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 272 
 
HENRY VIII. 
 
 Griff. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his convent, honourably received him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, — O father abbot, 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity ! 
 So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursued him still ; and, three nights after this, 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honours to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him ! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with charity, — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
 Ty*d all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law : i' th' presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double, 
 Both in his words and meaning : He was never, 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful * 
 His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
 But his performance, as he now is, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 Griff. Noble madam, 
 
 Men s evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Griff. This cardinal, 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading • 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
 But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
 273 N 2 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
 (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
 Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good he did it; 
 The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and so still rising, 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 And, to add greater honours to his age 
 Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
 Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 With thy religious truth, and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! — 
 Patience be near me still ; and set me lower ; 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial army I go to. 
 
 Sad and solemn music* 
 
 Griff. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet 
 For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 
 
 The Vision. 
 
 Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all gone 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 
 
 Griff. Madam, we are here. 
 
 Kath. s It is not you I call for : 
 
 Saw you none enter, since I slept ? 
 
 Griff. None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
 Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
 274 
 
HENRY VIII. 
 
 They promised me eternal happiness ; 
 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
 
 I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, assuredly. 
 
 Griff. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave ; 
 
 Tis harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases. 
 
 Pat. Do you note, 
 
 How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden? 
 How long her face is drawn ? how pale she looks, 
 And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes? 
 
 Griff. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. 
 
 Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. An't like your grace, — — 
 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow : . 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence ? 
 
 Griff. You are to blame, 
 
 Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness, 
 To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. [pardon ; 
 
 Mess, [kneeling.'] I humbly do entreat your highness' 
 My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
 A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
 
 Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this fellow 
 Let me ne'er see again. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Enter Capucius. 
 
 If my sight fail not, 
 You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
 My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
 
 Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
 
 Kath. O my lord, 
 
 The times, and titles, are now altered strangely 
 With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
 What is your pleasure with me ? 
 
 Cap. Noble lady, 
 
 First mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
 The kings request that I would visit you ; 
 Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
 275 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Sends you his princely commendations, 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 
 Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late ; 
 *Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; 
 But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
 How does his highness ? 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
 I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? 
 
 Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Kath. 
 
 Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Cap. Most willing, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! — 
 Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding ; 
 (She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
 I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 Have followed both my fortunes faithfully: 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 (And, now I should not lie,) but well deserves, 
 For virtue and true beauty of the soul, 
 For honesty and decent carriage, 
 A right good husband ; let him be a noble ; 
 And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 
 The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest, 
 But poverty could never draw them from me ; — 
 That they may have their wages duly paid them, 
 And something over to remember me by; — 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 These are the whole contents : — And, good my lord, 
 By that you love the dearest in this world, 
 276 
 
JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will ; 
 
 Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 
 
 Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
 In all humility unto his highness ; 
 And tell him, his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world: Tell him, in death I bless'd him ; 
 For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
 My lord — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
 
 You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
 
 Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench, 
 
 Let me be us'd with honour ; strew me over 
 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
 
 Then lay me forth: Although unqueen'd, yet like 
 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 
 I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Kath. 
 
 XII. JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I.—Romt. Brutus 's Orchard. 
 
 Brutus alone. Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep r It is no 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy-dew of slumber : [matter ; 
 
 Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies, 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 
 Por. Brutus, my lord! 
 
 Bru. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise you now ? 
 It is not for your health, thus to commit 
 Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 
 
 Por. Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, 
 Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper, 
 You suddenly arose and walk'd about, 
 Musing, and sighing, with your arms across : 
 And, when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 You star'd upon me with ungentle looks : 
 277 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 I urg'd you further; then you scratched your head, 
 And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot : 
 Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
 But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
 Gave sign for me to leave you : So I did ; 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience, 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal, 
 Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
 And, could it work so much upon your shape, 
 As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, 
 Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
 
 Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 Por. Brutus is wise ; and were he not in health, 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so I do : — Good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
 Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick ; 
 And will he stealout of his wholesome bed, 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night ? 
 And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
 To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind, 
 W T hich, by the right and virtue of my place, 
 I ought to know of : And, upon my knees, 
 I charge you, by my once-commended beauty, 
 By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
 Which did incorporate and make us one, 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
 Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
 Have had resort to you : for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 Even from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
 That appertain to you ? Am I yourself, 
 278 
 
JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 But, as it were, in sort or limitation, 
 
 To keep with you at meals, consort your bed, 
 
 And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the suburbs 
 
 Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honourable wife ; 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but. withal, 
 A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman well-reputed; Cato's daughter. 
 Think you, I am no stronger than my sex, 
 Being so fathered, and so husbanded? 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them : 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience, 
 And not my husband's secrets ? 
 
 Bru. O ye gods, 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! [Knocking within. 
 Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE II.— The Forum. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius, with the Plebeians. 
 
 Pleb. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. 
 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.- 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. — 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 279 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 1 Pleb. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 Pie b. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons, 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit Cassius; with some of the Plebeians. Brutus 
 goes into the rostrum. 
 
 3 Pleb. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. — 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; 
 and be silent that you may hear : believe me for mine 
 honour ; and have respect to mine honour, that you may 
 believe : censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your 
 senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in 
 this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that 
 Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that 
 friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my 
 answer, — Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved 
 Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die 
 all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men ? 
 As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 
 I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him : but, as 
 he was ambitious, I slew him : There are tears for his love, 
 joy for his fortune ; honour, for his valour ; and death, for 
 his ambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bond- 
 man? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is 
 here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; 
 for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will 
 not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I of- 
 fended. I pause for a reply. 
 
 All. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 Bru. Then none have I offended. — I have done no 
 more to Caesar, than you shall do to Brutus. The question 
 of his death is enroll'd in the Capitol: his glory not ex- 
 tenuatedj wherein he was worthy; nor his offences en- 
 forced, for which he suffered death. — 
 
 Enter Antony, and others, with Cesar's body. 
 
 Here comes his body, mourned bv Mark Antony : who, 
 though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit 
 of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; As which of 
 you shall not? With this I depart; That, as I slew my 
 best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger 
 280 
 
JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 for myself, when it shall please my country to need my 
 death. 
 
 All. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 
 
 1 Pleb. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 
 
 2 Pleb. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 Pleb. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 4 Pleb. Caesar's better parts 
 Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Pleb. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and 
 clamours. 
 
 Bru. My countrymen, 
 
 2 Pleb. Peace! silence! Brutus speaks 
 1 Pleb. Peace, ho ! . 
 
 Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
 And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
 Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allow'd to make* 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 
 1 Pleb. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 3 Pleb. Let him go up into the public chair, 
 We'll hear him :< — Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
 
 4 Pleb. What does he say of Brutus ? 
 
 3 Pleb. He says, for Brutus' sake, 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Pleb. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 1 Pleb. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Pleb. Nay, that's certain : 
 
 We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Pleb. Peace ! let us hear what Antony can say. 
 Ant. You gentle Romans, 
 
 All. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
 The evil, that men do, lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus 
 Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 281 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
 
 (For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
 
 So are they all, all honourable men ;) 
 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 
 But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 You all did see, that on the lupercal, 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
 
 judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Pleb. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 
 If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 3 Pleb. Has he, masters ? 
 
 1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 4 Pleb. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the 
 Therefore 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. [crown ; 
 
 1 Pleb. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2 Pleb. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 
 
 3 Pleb. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony. 
 
 4 Pleb. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 Ant. But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
 282 
 
JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men : 
 
 I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ; 
 I found it in his closet; 'tis his will : . 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 4 Pleb. We'll hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony. 
 
 All. The will ! the will ! we will hear Caesar's will ! 
 
 Ant . Have patience, gentle friends ! I must not read it ; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it! 
 
 4 Pleb. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ; 
 You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will ! 
 
 Ant . Will you be patient ? Will you stay awhile ? 
 I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
 I fear, I wrong the honourable men, 
 W T hose daggers have stabb'd Caesar : I do fear it. 
 
 4 Pleb. They were traitors : Honourable men ! 
 
 All. The will! the testament ! 
 
 2 Pleb. They were villains, murderers : The will ! 
 read the will ! 
 
 Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 
 283 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 All. Come down. 
 
 2 Pleb. Descend. [He comeTTfown from the pulpit . 
 
 3 Pleb. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 Pleb. A ring ; stand round ! 
 
 1 Pleb. Stand from the hearse* stand from the body. 
 
 2 Pleb. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony ! 
 Ant . Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 All. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 Ant . If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made ! 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ! 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls ! what, weep you, when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here! 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, by traitors. 
 
 1 Pleb. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2 Pleb. O noble Caesar ! 
 
 3 Pleb. O woful day ! 
 
 4 Pleb. O traitors, villains ! 
 
 284 
 
JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 1 Pleb. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 2 Pleb. We will be revenged! Revenge! About, — 
 seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — Let not a traitor live. 
 
 Ant. Stay, countrymen 
 
 1 Pleb. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony, [him. 
 
 2 Pleb. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with 
 Ant . Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They, that have done this deed, are honourable; 
 What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man 5 
 That love my friend ; and that they knew full well 
 That give me public leave to speak of him : 
 For I have neither wit nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ; 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths ! 
 And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Ceesar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 All. We'll mutiny— 
 
 1 Pleb. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
 
 3 Pleb. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
 Ant . Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
 All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony ! 
 Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what : 
 
 Wlierein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves ? 
 Alas, you know not : — I must tell you then : — 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 All. Most true; — the will; — let's stay, and hear the will. 
 
 Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 2 Pleb. Most noble Caesar ! — We'll revenge his death. 
 
 285 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 3 Pleb. O royal Caesar ! 
 
 Ant. Hear me with patience. 
 
 All. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbours, aud new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, 
 And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Caesar : When comes such another ? 
 
 1 Pleb. Never, never : — Come, away, away : 
 We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the bod v. 
 
 2 Pleb. Go, fetch fire. 
 
 3 Pleb. Pluck down benches. 
 
 4 Pleb. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing I 
 
 [Exeunt Plebeians with the body. 
 Ant. Now let it work : Mischief, thou art afoot ; 
 Take thou what course thou wilt ! 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III.— The Inside of Brutus' Tent. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius. 
 
 Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted of. 
 
 Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear his comment. 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm , 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cas. I an itching palm? 
 
 You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 286 
 
JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 Cas. Chastisement ! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember ! 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ! 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honours, 
 For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? — 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 
 
 111 not endure it : you forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say, you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more ; I shall forget myself ; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is't possible? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
 Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? 
 
 Cas. O ye gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 
 
 Bru. All this ? ay, more : Fret, till your proud heart 
 break ; 
 Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humour ? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
 Though it do split you : for, from this day forth, 
 I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : * 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 287 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And it shall please mt well : For mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus , 
 I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say better ? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care not. 
 
 Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd me 
 
 Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him 
 
 Cas. I durst not ? — 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? 
 
 Bru. For your life you durst not. 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love. 
 I may do that I should be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, 
 That they pass by me, as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; — 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
 By any indirection. I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius ? 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ? 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Dash him to pieces, 
 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 
 
 That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd my 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, [heart : 
 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me, 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults, 
 288 
 
JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ; 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
 Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother, 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd, 
 Set in a note book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold . 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know, 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheath your dagger : 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temperM, vexeth him ? 
 
 Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand. 
 
 Bru. And my heart too ! [Embracing. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus !— 
 
 Bru. What's the matter ? 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, 
 Makes me forgetful? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, 
 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 589 O 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Enter Lucilius ArarfTiTiNius. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night 
 
 Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you, 
 Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. 
 
 Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better : — Portia is dead ! 
 
 Cas. Ha! Portia? 
 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 
 Cas. How 'scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ? — 
 O insupportable and touching loss I- — 
 Upon what sickness ? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 
 
 And grief, that young Octavius, with Mark Antony, 
 Have made themselves so strong (for with her death 
 That tidings came) ; with this she fell distract, 
 And, her attendants absent, swallowed fire. 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. 
 
 XIII. TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 ACT IV, SCENE III.— The Woods. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 Timon. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, — 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth, 
 Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several fortunes ; 
 The greater scorns the lesser : Not nature, 
 To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, 
 But by contempt of nature. 
 290 
 
 1 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord ; 
 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
 
 The beggar native honour. 
 
 It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, 
 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, 
 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, 
 
 And say, This man's a flatterer? If one be, 
 
 So are they all ; for every grize of fortune 
 
 Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate 
 
 Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ; 
 
 There's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
 
 But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd 
 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 
 His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains : 
 
 Destruction fang mankind ! — Earth, yield me roots ! 
 
 [Digging. 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
 With thy most operant poison! What is here? 
 Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold ? No, gods, 
 I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
 Thus much of this, will make black, white ; foul, fair ; 
 Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, young ; coward, valiant. 
 Ha, you gods ! why this ? what this, you gods ? Why this 
 Will lug your priests and servants from your sides ; 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads : 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions ; bless th' accurs'd ; 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on the bench : this is it, 
 That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; 
 She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores 
 Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
 To th' April day again. Come, damned earth, 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
 Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature. — [March afar off.] — Ha ! a drum ? — 
 
 Thou'rt quick, 
 But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief, 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: — 
 Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. 
 
 291 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife , in warlike 
 manner; and Phrynia <mrfTiMANDRA. 
 
 Ale. What art thou there ? Speak. 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, 
 For showing me again the eyes of man ! 
 
 Ale. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to thee, 
 That art thyself a man ? 
 
 Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. 
 For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
 That I might love thee something. 
 
 Ale. I know thee well ; 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strai«ge. 
 
 Tim. I know thee too; and more, than that I know thee, 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules* 
 Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
 Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
 For all her cherubin look. 
 
 Phry. Thy lips rot off ! 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; thea the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Ale. How came the noble Timon to this change ? 
 
 Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Ale. Noble Timon, 
 
 W T hat friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Ale. What is it, Timon? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
 Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee, 
 For thou'rt a man ! 
 
 Ale. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 
 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 
 
 Ale. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. 
 
 Tim. As thine is now, held witfc a brace of harlots. 
 
 Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world 
 Voic'd so regardfully? 
 292 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 
 
 Timan. Yes. 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that use thee ; 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
 For tubs, and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth 
 To the tub-fast, and the diet. 
 
 Timan. Hang thee, monster I 
 
 Ale. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my penurious band : I have heard, and griev*d, 
 How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,— 
 
 Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 
 Ale. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble ? 
 I had rather be alone. 
 
 Ale. Why, fare thee well : 
 
 Here's some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it. 
 
 Ale. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, 
 
 Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? 
 
 Ale. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all i' thy conquest ; and 
 Thee after, when thou hast conquered ! 
 
 Ale. Why me, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. That, 
 By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer 
 My country. 
 
 Put up thy gold ; Go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-vie'd city hang his poison 
 In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one : . 
 Pity not honour'd age for his white beard, 
 He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron ; 
 It is her habit only that is honest, 
 Herself's a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk-paps, 
 293 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
 Set them down horrible traitors : Spare not the babe, 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ; 
 Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, 
 And mince it sans remorse : Swear against objects ; 
 Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ; 
 Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers : 
 Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, 
 Confounded be thyself ! Speak not, be gone. 
 
 Ale. Hast thou gold yet?. I'll take the gold thou giv'stme, 
 Not all thy counsel. [thee! 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon 
 
 Phr.fyTim. Give us some gold, goodTimon: Hast thou 
 more. 
 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, 
 And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
 Your aprons mountant ; You are not oathable, — 
 Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, 
 Th' immortal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, 
 I'll trust to your conditions : Be whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
 And be no turncoats : Yet may your pains, six months, 
 Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs 
 With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd, 
 No matter: — wear them, betray with them: whore still; 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Phr. Sf Timan. Well, more gold ; — What then ? — 
 Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Tim. Consumptions sow 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
 That he may never more false title plead, 
 Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the f lamen, 
 294 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
 
 And not believes himself : down with the nose, 
 
 Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
 
 Of him, that his particular to foresee, 
 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate ruffians 
 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war [bald ; 
 
 Derive some pain from you : Plague all ; 
 
 That your activity may defeat and quell 
 
 The source of all erection. — There's more gold: — 
 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
 
 And ditches grave you all ! 
 
 Phr. fy Timan. More counsel with more money, boun- 
 teous Timou. [earnest. 
 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you 
 
 Ale. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, 
 If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. [Timon ; 
 
 Tim, If I hope well, Fll never see thee more. 
 
 Ale. I never did thee harm. 
 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 
 Ale. Call'st thou that harm 
 
 Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away, 
 And take thy beagles with thee. 
 
 Ale. We but offend him. — 
 
 Strike. [Drum beats. 
 
 [Exeunt Alcib. Phrynia, and Timandra. 
 
 Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, 
 Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, [Digs. 
 Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, 
 Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, 
 Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, 
 Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, 
 The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, 
 With all th' abhorred births beknv crisp heaven, 
 Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; 
 Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
 Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
 Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
 Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
 295 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Never presented ! — O, a root, — Dear thanks ! 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 
 Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
 And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
 That from it all consideration slips ! 
 
 Enter Apemantus, 
 
 More man ? Plague ! plague ! 
 
 Apem. I was directed hither : Men report, 
 Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
 Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee ! 
 
 Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected ; 
 A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
 From change of fortune. Why this spade ? this place ? 
 This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft ; 
 Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot 
 That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, 
 By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
 And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, 
 Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain, 
 And call it excellent : Thou wast told thus ; 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome, 
 To knaves, and all approachers : 'Tis most just, 
 That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again, 
 Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. 
 
 Tim. Were I like thee, Fd throw away myself, 
 
 Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself ; 
 A madman so long, now a fool : What, think'st 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
 Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moss'd trees, 
 That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, 
 And skip when thou point'st out ? Will the cold brook, 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, 
 To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? call the creatures,—- 
 Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
 Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks, 
 To the conflicting elements expos'd, 
 296 
 
T1M0N OF ATHENS. 
 
 Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee ; 
 O ! thou shalt find 
 
 Tim* A fool of thee : Depart. 
 
 Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 
 
 Tim. I hate thee worse. 
 
 Apem. Why ? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Apem. I flatter not ; but say, thou art a caitiff. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ? 
 
 Apem. To vex thee. 
 
 Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. 
 Dost please thyself in't ? 
 
 Apejn. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What ! a knave too ? 
 
 Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly; thou'dst courtier be again, 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : 
 The one is filling still, never complete ; 
 The other, at high wish : Best state, contentless, 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. 
 Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
 With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
 Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded 
 The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
 To such as may the passive drugs of it 
 Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself 
 In general riot ; melted down thy youth 
 In different beds of lust ; and never learn'd 
 The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
 Who had the world as my confectionary; 
 The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men 
 At duty, more than I could frame employment ; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
 257 o ^ 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 For every storm that blows ; — I, to bear this, 
 
 That never knew but better, is some burden : 
 
 Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
 
 Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st thou hate men ? 
 
 They never flatter'd thee : What hast thou given ? 
 
 If thou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor rag, 
 
 Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff 
 
 To some she beggar, and compounded thee 
 
 Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! — 
 
 If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
 
 Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 
 
 Apem. Art thou proud yet? 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 
 
 Apem. I, that I was 
 
 No prodigal. 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now ; 
 Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee, 
 I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.— 
 That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 
 Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root. 
 
 Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. [Offering him another. 
 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 
 
 Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by th'lack of thine. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
 If not, I would it were. 
 
 Apem. W T hat would'st thou have to Athens? 
 
 Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, 
 Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have. 
 
 Apem. Here is no use for gold. 
 
 Tim. The best, and truest : 
 
 For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 
 
 Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. Under that's above me. 
 
 Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. Where my stomach finds meat ; or, rather, where 
 I eat it. 
 
 Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind ! 
 
 Apem. Where would'st thou send it ? 
 
 Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 
 
 Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, 
 but the extremity of both ends : When thou wast in thy 
 298 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much 
 curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised 
 for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. 
 
 Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. 
 
 Apem. Dost hate a medlar? 
 
 Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 
 
 Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou 
 shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst 
 thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his means? 
 
 Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst 
 thou ever know beloved? 
 
 Apem. Myself. 
 
 Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some means to 
 keep a dog. 
 
 Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest 
 compare to thy flatterers? 
 
 Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things 
 themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Ape- 
 rnantus, if it lay in thy power ? 
 
 Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 
 
 Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the confusion 
 of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? 
 
 Apem. Ay, Timon. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to 
 attain to ! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee : 
 if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee : if thou 
 wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, perad- 
 venture, thou wert accused by the ass : if thou wert the 
 ass, thy dullness would torment thee ; and still thou livedst 
 but as a breakfast to the wolf : if thou wert the wolf, thy 
 greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard 
 thy life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride and 
 wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the 
 conquest of thy fury : wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be 
 killed by the horse ; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be 
 seized by the leopard ; wert thou a leopard, thou wert ger- 
 man to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors 
 on thy life: All thy safety were remotion ; and thy defence, 
 absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not sub- 
 ject to a beast? And what a beast art thou already, that 
 seest not thy loss in transformation ? 
 299 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, 
 thou might'st have hit upon it here : the commonwealth 
 of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 
 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out 
 of the city ? 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter: The 
 plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear to catch 
 it, and give way : When I know not what else to do, I'll 
 see thee again. 
 
 Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt 
 be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, than Ape- 
 mantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 
 
 Tim. 'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon ! 
 
 Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 
 
 Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 
 
 Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. 
 
 Tim. If I name thee. — 
 I'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands. 
 
 Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off ! 
 
 Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
 Choler does kill me, that thou art alive ; 
 I swoon to see thee. 
 
 Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst ! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
 A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. 
 
 Apem. Beast ! 
 
 Tim. Slave! 
 
 Apem. Toad! 
 
 Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 
 
 [Apemantus retreats backward, as going. 
 I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
 But even the mere necessities upon it. 
 Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph, 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
 
 [Looking on the gold. 
 'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
 300 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, 
 
 Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
 
 That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god, 
 
 That solder'st close impossibilities, 
 
 And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with every tongue, 
 
 To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! 
 
 Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue 
 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 
 May have the world in empire ! 
 
 Apem. 'Would 'twere so ; — 
 
 But not till I am dead ! — Fll say, thou hast gold : 
 Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throngdto? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 77m. Thy back, I pr ythee. — 
 
 Apem. Live, and love thy misery ! 
 
 Tim. Long live so, and so die ! I am quit. — 
 
 [Exit Apemantus. 
 More things like men ? — Eat, Timon, and abhor them. 
 
 
 XIV. CYMBELINE. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE II.— A Bed-chamber; in one part of 
 it a large trunk. 
 
 Imogen reading in her Bed, a Lady attending. 
 
 Imo. Who's there ? my woman Helen? 
 
 Lady. Please you, madam. — 
 
 Imo. What hour is it ? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours then ; mine eyes are 
 Fold down the leaf where I have left : To-bed : [weak: — 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning ; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o' th' clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. 
 
 [Exit Lady. 
 To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
 301 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night, 
 Guard me, beseech ye ! [Sleeps, 
 
 [I A chi mo rises from the trunk, 
 lack. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense 
 Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus 
 Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily ! 
 And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
 But kiss ; one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd, 
 How dearly they do't! — 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o' th' taper 
 Bows toward her ; and would under-peep her lids, 
 To see th' inclosed lights now canopied 
 Under these windows : White and azure, lac'd 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct. — But my design ? 
 To note the chamber : — I will write all down : — 
 Such, and such, pictures : — There, the window : — Such 
 The adornment of her bed ; — The arras, figures, 
 Why, such, and such :— And the contents o'th' story, — 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
 Would testify, to enrich my inventory : 
 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 
 Thus in a chapel lying ! Come off, come off ; 
 
 [Taking off her bracelet. 
 As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard ! — 
 ? Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, 
 As strongly as the conscience does within, 
 To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 T th' bottom of a cowslip : Here's a voucher, 
 Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
 Will force him think I've pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
 The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end ? 
 Why should I write this down, that's rivetted, 
 Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading, late, 
 The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn d down, 
 
 Where Philomel gave up ; 1 have enough :- 
 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 302 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that dawning 
 May bare the raven's eye : I lodge in fear ; 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 One, two, three : Time, time ! 
 
 [Goes into the trunk : The Scene closes. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. — Wales. A mountainous Country, 
 with a Cave. 
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day ! not to keep house, with such 
 Whose roofs as low as ours ! See, boys ! this gate 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows you 
 To morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through, 
 And keep their impious turbands on, without 
 Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven I 
 We house i'th'rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Guid. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Arv. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Bel. Now, for our mountain sport : Up to yon hill, 
 Your legs are young ; I'll tread these flats. Consider, 
 When you above perceive me like a crow, 
 That it is place, which lessens, and sets off. 
 And you may then revolve what tales I have told you, 
 Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
 This service is not service, so being done, 
 But being so allow'd : To apprehend thus. 
 Draws us a profit from all things we see : 
 And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
 The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life 
 Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
 Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble ; 
 Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
 Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, 
 Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 
 
 Guid. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor, unfledg'd, 
 303 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Have never wing'd from view o'th'nest; nor know not 
 
 What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, 
 
 If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, 
 
 That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
 
 With your stiff age : but, unto us, it is 
 
 A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed; 
 
 A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
 
 To stride a limit. 
 
 Arv. What should we speak of, 
 
 When we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
 The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing : 
 We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey; 
 Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : 
 Our valour is, to chase what flies ; our cage 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
 And sing our bondage freely. 
 
 Bel. How you speak ! 
 
 Did you but know the city's usuries, 
 And felt them knowingly : the art o'th' court, 
 As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
 Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
 The fear's as bad as falling: the toil o'th' war, 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 Fth'name of fame, and honour ; which dies i' th' search ; 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, 
 As record of fair act ; nay, many times, 
 Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse, 
 Must courtesy at the censure : — O, boys, this story 
 The world may read in me : My body's mark'd 
 With Roman swords ; and my report was once 
 First with the best of note : Cymbeline lov'd me ; 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
 Was not far off : Then was I as a tree, 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but, in one night, 
 A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, 
 Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 Guid. Uncertain favour ! 
 
 Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) 
 304 
 
CYMBEL1NE. 
 
 But that two villians, whose false oaths prevaii'd 
 
 Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, 
 
 I was confederate with the Romans : so, 
 
 Follow'd my banishment; and, these twenty years, 
 
 This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world : 
 
 Where I have liv'd an honest freedom ; paid 
 
 More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
 
 The fore-end of my time. — But, up to th' mountains! 
 
 This is not hunters' language : He that strikes 
 
 The venison first, shall be the lord o' th' feast ; 
 
 To him the other two shall minister ; 
 
 And we will fear no poison which attends 
 
 In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. 
 
 [Exeunt Guid. and Arv, 
 How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 These boys know little, they are sons to th' king ; 
 Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
 They think, they are mine : and, though trained up thus 
 
 meanly 
 F th' cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature promps them, 
 In simple and low things, to prince it, much 
 Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, — 
 The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
 The king his father called Guiderius, — Jove ! 
 When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
 Into my story: say, Thus mine enemy fell, 
 And thus I set my foot on f s neck: even then 
 The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
 That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
 (Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure, 
 Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more 
 His own conceiving. Hark ! the game is rous'd ! — 
 O, Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows, 
 Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, 
 At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ; 
 Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, 
 
 305 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And every day do honour to her grave : 
 Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, 
 They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit . 
 
 *■ •*•.*• ^^•#^^sr*>«r.#'^>-#' 
 
 XV. KING LEAR. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE W.—A Heath. Storm. 
 Enter Lear and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage ! blow I 
 You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
 Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th* world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds ; all germens spill at once, 
 That make ingratef ul man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better 
 than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask 
 thy daughter's blessing ; here's a night pities neither wise 
 men nor fools. 
 
 Lear. Rumble thy belly full ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain ! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness ; 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children ; 
 You owe me no subscription ; why then let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : — 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 
 Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 
 
 Fool. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good 
 head-piece. 
 
 The cod-piece that will house, 
 
 Before the head has any, 
 The head and he shall louse; — 
 
 So beggars marry many. 
 306 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 The man that makes his toe 
 What he his heart should make, 
 
 Shall of a com cry woe, 
 And turn his sleep to wake. 
 
 — For there was never yet fair woman, but she made 
 
 mouths in a glass. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience; 
 I will say nothing. 
 
 Kent . Who's there ? 
 
 Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece ; that's a 
 wise man, and a fool. 
 
 Kent . Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love night, 
 Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
 Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
 And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, 
 Such sheets of fire, such bursts' of horrid thunder, 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have heard : Man's nature cannot carry 
 The affliction, nor the fear. 
 
 Lear. Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
 That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
 Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; 
 Thou perjur'd, and thou simular of virtue, 
 That art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake, 
 That, under covert and convenient seeming, 
 Hast practis'd on man's life ! — Close pent-up guilts, 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
 More sinn'd against, than sinning. 
 
 Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
 Repose you there : while I to this hard house, 
 (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
 Which even but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in,) return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. My wits begin to turn.-— 
 
 307 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Come on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold ? 
 I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ? 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel; 
 Poor fool and knave, I've one part in my heart, 
 That's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — 
 
 With, heigh ho ! the wind and the rain, 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit ; 
 Though the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this hovel. 
 
 {Exeunt Lear and Kent. 
 
 Fool. 'Tis a brave night to cool a courtezan. — 
 I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : 
 
 When priests are more in words than matter; 
 
 When brewers mar their malt with water ; 
 
 When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 
 
 No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors : 
 
 When every case in law is right ; 
 
 No 'squire in debt, and no poor knight ; 
 
 When slanders do not live in tongues ; 
 
 Nor cut-purses come not to throngs; 
 
 When usurers tell their gold i' th' field ; 
 
 And bawds and whores do churches build ; — 
 
 Then shall the realm of Albion 
 
 Come to great confusion. 
 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see% 
 
 That going shall be us'd with feet. 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV.— Part of the Heath, with a Hovel 
 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord, enter : 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
 For nature to endure. [Storm still. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Wilt break, my heart? [enter. 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, 
 308 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious 
 Invades us to the skin ; so 'tis to thee ; [storm 
 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
 But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, 
 Thou'dst meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's free, 
 The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from mv senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not, as this mouth should tear this haud, 
 For lifting food to't? — But I'll punish home : — 
 No, I will weep no more. — In such a night, 
 To shut me out! — Pour on; I will endure: — 
 In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! — 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
 No more of that, — 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself ; seek thine own ease ; 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in : 
 In, boy; go first. [To the Fool] You houseless poverty, — 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — 
 
 [Fool goes in. 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. [within. 1 Fathom and half, fathom and half ! Poor 
 Tom! 
 
 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! [The Fool runs out from the Hovel. 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there? 
 
 Fool. A spirit, a spirit; He says his name's poor Tom. 
 
 Kent . What art thou that dost grumble there i' th' straw ! 
 Come forth. 
 309 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Enter Edgar, disguised like a Madman. 
 
 Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.— 
 Humph! go to thy bed, and warm thee. 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom the 
 foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through 
 ford and through whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that 
 hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; 
 set ratsbane by his porridge ; made him proud of heart, 
 to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, 
 to course his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five 
 wits! Tom's a-cold. — O, do de, do de, do de. — Bless thee 
 from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! Do poor 
 Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : There 
 could I have him now, — and there, — and there again, and 
 there ! [Storm continues. 
 
 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this 
 pass ? — 
 Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all? 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all 
 shamed. 
 
 Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 
 Kent . He hath no daughters, sir. 
 
 Lear. Death, traitor ! Nothing could have subdu'd nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
 Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? 
 Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 
 
 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
 madmen. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o' th' foul fiend : Obey thy parents ; 
 keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's 
 sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array : 
 Tom's a-cold. 
 310 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. What hast thou been ? 
 
 Edg. A serving man, proud in heart and mind ; that 
 curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap, served the lust 
 of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with 
 her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke 
 them in the sweet face of heaven : one, that slept in the 
 contriving lust, and waked to do it : Wine loved I deeply; 
 dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured the Turk : 
 False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand ; Hog in sloth, 
 fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in 
 prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of 
 silks, betray thy poor heart to women: Keep thy foot 
 out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from 
 lender's books, and defy the foul fiend. — Still through the 
 hawthorn blows the cold wind : Says suum, mun, ha no 
 nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy, Sessa ; let him trot by. 
 
 [Storm still continues. 
 Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to an- 
 swer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. 
 -Is man no more than this ? Consider him well : Thou 
 owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no 
 wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha ! here's three of us are 
 sophisticated! — Thou art the thing itself: unaccommo- 
 dated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked 
 animal as thou art. — Off, off, you tendings : — Come; un- 
 button here. — [Tearing off his clothes. 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty 
 night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a wild field were 
 like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, and all the rest 
 of his body cold. Look, here comes a waiking fire. * 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he begins 
 at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives the web 
 and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare lip ; mil- 
 dews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Withold footed thrice the wold ; 
 
 He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold; 
 
 Bid her alight, and her troth plight, 
 
 And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ! 
 
 Kent . How fares your grace r 
 
 Enter Glo'stek, with a torch. 
 Lear. What's he ? 
 311 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? 
 
 Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, 
 the tadpole, the wall newt, and the water newt ; that in 
 the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow- 
 dung for sallads ; swallows the old rat and the ditch dog ; 
 drinks the green mantle of the standing pool ; who is whip- 
 ped from tything to tything, and stocked, punished, and 
 imprisoned ; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts 
 to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear, — 
 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 
 Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fiend ! 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? 
 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
 Modo he's caird, and Mahu. 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughters' hard commands : 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
 Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 
 Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher :-r- 
 What is the cause of thunder ? 
 
 Kent. My good lord, take his offer 2 
 Go into th' house. 
 
 Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban :— 
 What is your study ? 
 
 Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin, 
 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 
 Kent . Importune him once more to go, my lord ; 
 His wits begin t' unsettle. 
 
 Glo. Canst thou blame him ? 
 
 His daughters seek his death : — Ah, that good Kent ! — 
 He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! — 
 Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, friend, 
 I am almost mad myself : I had a son, 
 Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my life, 
 312 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend, — 
 No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Storm still. 
 The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this ! 
 I do beseech your grace, — 
 
 Lear, O, cry you mercy, — 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel : keep thee warm. 
 
 Lear. Come, let's in all. 
 
 Kent. This way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. With him ; 
 
 I will keep still with my philosopher. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, sooth him; let him take the fellow. 
 
 Glo. Take him you on. 
 
 Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 
 Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
 
 Glo. No words, no words. Hush ! 
 
 Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 
 His word was still, — Fie, foh, and fum, 
 I smell the blood of a British man. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE VI.— A Chamber in a Farm-House. 
 Enter Glo'ster, Leak, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 
 
 Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it thank- 
 fully : I will piece out the comfort with what addition I 
 can : I will not be long from you, 
 
 Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to his 
 impatience : — The gods reward your kindness ! 
 
 [Exit Glo'ster. 
 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is an 
 angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware 
 the foul fiend. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman be 
 a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
 
 Lear. A king, a king ! 
 
 Fool. No ; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his 
 son : for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son a gentleman 
 before him. 
 
 Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
 Come hizzing in upon them : — 
 313 P 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
 Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, 
 a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. 
 
 Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight : — 
 
 Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;- 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.] — Now, you she 
 foxes ! — 
 Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
 Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 
 
 Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me : — 
 
 Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 
 And she must not speak 
 Why she dares not come over to thee. 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of 
 a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two 
 white herring. Croak not, black angel ; I have no food 
 for thee. 
 
 Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not so amaz'd : 
 Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? 
 
 Lear. I'll see their trial first : — Bring in the evidence. — 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool. 
 
 Bench by his side : — You are of the commission, 
 Sit you too. [To Kent. 
 
 Edg. Let us deal justly. 
 
 Sleepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd ? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
 
 Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
 
 Pur ! the cat is grey. 
 
 Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take my 
 oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the 
 poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Goneril ? 
 
 Lear. She cannot deny it. 
 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. 
 
 Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim 
 What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
 314 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place ! 
 False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 
 
 Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 
 
 Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much, 
 They'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside. 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 
 
 Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : — 
 A vaunt, you curs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
 Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, 
 Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ; 
 Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
 Tom will make them weep and wail : 
 For, with throwing thus my head, 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
 Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and fairs, 
 and market towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 
 
 Lear, Then let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds 
 about her heart : Is there any cause in nature, that makes 
 these hard hearts? — You, sir, I entertain you for one of 
 my hundred ; only, I do not like the fashion of your gar- 
 ments : you will say, they are Persian attire ; but let them 
 be changed. [To Edgar. 
 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the curtains : 
 So, so, so : We'll go to supper i' th' morning : So, so, so. 
 Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 
 
 Re-enter Glo'ster. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my master ? 
 
 Kent . Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits are gone. 
 
 Glo. Good friend, I pr'ytbee take him in thy arms; 
 I have o'er-heard a plot of death upon him : 
 There is a litter ready ; lay him in't, 
 And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet 
 Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master: 
 If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life, 
 315 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
 Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up ; 
 And follow me, that will to some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : — • 
 
 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
 Which, if convenience will not allow, 
 Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master ; 
 Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 
 
 Glo. Come, come, away. 
 
 [Exeunt bearing off the King. 
 
 Edg. [alone.'] When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
 We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
 Who alone suffers, suffers most i' th' mind ; 
 Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind : 
 But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
 When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems now, 
 When that, which makes me bend, makes the king bow ; 
 He childed, as I fathered! — Tom, away: 
 Mark the high noises ; and thyself bewray, 
 When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, 
 In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
 What will hap more to-night, safe scape the king ! 
 Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE VI.— The Country near Dover. 
 Edgar and Glo'ster. 
 
 Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers. 
 
 Edg. But who comes here ? 
 The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ; I am the 
 king himself. 
 
 Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 
 
 Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's your 
 press-money. That fellow handles his bow likt a crow- 
 keeper: Draw me a clothier's yard. — Look, look, a 
 mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted cheese will 
 316 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 do't. — There's my gauntlet ; 1*11 prove it on a giant. — Bring 
 up the brown bills. — O, well-flown, bird! — i'th* clout, 
 i'th' clout: hewgh! — Give the word. 
 
 Edg. Sweet marjoram. 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They flat- 
 tered me like a dog; and told me, I had white hairs in 
 my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say ay, and 
 no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and No too was no good 
 divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the 
 wind to make me chatter ; when the thunder would not 
 peace at my bidding ; there I found them, there 1 smelt 
 them out. Go to, they are not men o' their words: 
 they told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie; I am not 
 ague-proof. 
 
 Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember: 
 Is't not the king ? 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king: 
 
 When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life : What was thy cause ? — 
 Adultery. — 
 
 Thou shalt not die : Die for adultery ? No : 
 The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
 Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
 Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
 To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
 Behold yon' simpering dame, 
 Whose face between her forks presageth snow ; 
 That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
 To hear of pleasure's name ; 
 The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't 
 With a more riotous appetite. 
 Down from the waist they are centaurs, 
 Though women all above : 
 But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 
 Beneath is all the fiends ; there's hell, there's darkness, 
 there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, con- 
 sumption ; — Fye, fye, fye ! pah ; pah ! Give me an ounce 
 317 
 
INTERESTING SCENES, 
 
 of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination : 
 there's money for thee. 
 
 Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 
 
 Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. 
 
 Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
 Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me? 
 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou 
 squiny at me ? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; I'll not 
 iove. — Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it. 
 
 Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it. 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 Glo. What, with the case of eyes ? 
 
 Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes in your 
 head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a 
 heavy case, your purse in a light : Yet you see how this 
 world goes. 
 
 Glo. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. Wliat, art mad ? A man may see how this world 
 goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see how yon* 
 justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear : 
 Change places ; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, 
 which is the thief ? — Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark 
 at a beggar? 
 
 Glo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou 
 might'st behold the great image of authority: a dog's 
 obeyed in office. — 
 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand : 
 Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thine own back; 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em: 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
 318 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 To see the things thou dost not. — Now, row, now, now 7 : 
 Pull off my boots: — harder, harder; so. 
 
 Edg. O, matter aud impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reason in madness ! 
 
 Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
 I know thee well enough; thy name is Glo'ster: 
 Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the arr, 
 We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack the day ! 
 
 Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come 
 
 To this great stage of fools ; This a good block? — 
 
 It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt : I'll put it in proof; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
 Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill ! 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
 
 Gent. O, here he is ; lay hand upon him. — Sir, 
 Your most dear daughter 
 
 Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even 
 The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 
 You shall have ransome. Let me have a surgeon, 
 I am cut to th' brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have any thing. 
 
 Lear. No seconds ? All myself ? 
 Why, this would make a man, a man of salt, 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
 Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
 
 Gent. Good sir, — 
 
 Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom : What ? 
 I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
 My masters, know you that ? 
 
 Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get it, you 
 shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 
 
 [Exit, running; Attendants follow. 
 
 Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 Past speaking of in a king ! — Thou hast one daughter, 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 Which twain have brought her to. 
 319 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 
 
 Gent. Sir, speed you : What's your will? 
 
 Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ? 
 
 Gent . Most sure, and vulgar : every one hears that, 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Edg. But, by your favour, 
 
 How near's the other army? 
 
 Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry 
 Stands on the hourly thought. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all. 
 
 Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is here, 
 Her army is mov'd on. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me; 
 Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
 To die before you please ! 
 
 Edg. Well pray you, father. 
 
 Glo. Now, good sir, what are you ? 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's blows; 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 I'll lead you to some biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks: 
 
 The bounty and the benizon of heaven 
 To boot, and boot ! 
 
 XVI. ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE II.— Verona. Capulefs Garden. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 
 
 [Juliet appears above, at a window. 
 But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! 
 It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
 Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
 Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
 That thou het maid art far more fair than she : 
 Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
 320 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Her vestal livery is but sick and green, 
 
 And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. — 
 
 It is my lady; O, it is my love : 
 
 O, that she knew she were ! — 
 
 She speaks, yet she says nothing ; What of that ? 
 
 Her eye discourses, I will answer it. — 
 
 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
 
 Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
 
 To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
 
 What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? 
 
 The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, 
 
 As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven 
 
 Would through the airy region stream so bright, 
 
 That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
 
 See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
 
 O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
 
 That I might touch that cheek ! 
 
 Jul. Ah me ! 
 
 Rom. She speaks : — 
 
 O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
 As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
 As is a winged messenger of heaven 
 Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air. 
 
 Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 
 Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
 And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? [Aside. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; — 
 Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. 
 What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot, 
 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
 Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
 What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, 
 By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
 Retain that dear perfection which he owes, 
 321 p 2 
 
INTERESTING SCENES, 
 
 Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name ; 
 And for that name, which is no part of thee, 
 Take all myself. 
 
 Rom. I take thee at thy word : 
 
 Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd ; 
 Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 
 
 Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, 
 So stumblest on my counsel ? 
 
 Rom. By a name 
 
 I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
 My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
 Because it is an enemy to thee ; 
 Had I it written, I would tear the word. 
 
 Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
 Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound ; 
 Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? 
 
 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
 
 Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me ? and wherefore ? 
 The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
 And the place death, considering who thou art, 
 If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 
 
 Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls ; 
 For stony limits cannot hold love out : 
 And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; 
 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 
 
 Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 
 
 Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, 
 Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
 And I am proof against their enmity. 
 
 Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here. 
 
 Rom. I have night's cloak, to hide me from their sight; 
 And, but thou love me, let them find me here: 
 My life were better ended by their hate, 
 Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 
 
 Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place ? 
 
 Rom, By love, who first did prompt me to inquire ; 
 He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
 I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
 As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
 I would adventure for such merchandise. 
 
 Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face, 
 322 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
 Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
 What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! 
 Dost thou love me ? I know, thou wilt say — Ay ; 
 And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
 Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, 
 They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
 Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
 I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, 
 So thou wilt woo ; but, else, not for the world. 
 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
 Aud therefore thou niay'st think my haviour light : 
 But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
 I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
 But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware, 
 My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ; 
 And not impute this yielding to light love, 
 Which the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
 That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 
 
 Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon 
 That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
 
 Rom, What shall I swear by ? 
 
 Jul. Do not swear at all ; 
 
 Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
 Which is the god of my idolatry, 
 And I'll believe thee. 
 
 Rom. If my heart's dear love — 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, 
 I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
 It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, 
 Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night ! 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
 Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
 Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 
 323 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
 
 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 
 
 Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. 
 
 Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love ? 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
 And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
 My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
 My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
 The more I have, for both are infinite. 
 
 [Nurse calls within. 
 I hear some noise within ; Dear love, adieu ! 
 Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Montague, be true. 
 Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. O blessed blessed night ! I am afeard, 
 Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
 Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 
 Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. 
 If that thy bent of love be honourable, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
 By one that I'll procure to come to thee, 
 Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite ; 
 And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, 
 And follow thee my lord throughout the world : 
 
 Nurse. [Within.] Madam. 
 
 Jul. I come, anon: — But if thou mean'st not well, 
 I do beseech thee, — 
 
 Nurse. [Within.] Madam. 
 
 Jul. By and by, I come : — 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
 To-morrow will I send. 
 
 Rom. So thrive my soul, — 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. 
 
 Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. — 
 Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books ; 
 But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 
 
 [Retiring slowly. 
 
 324 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 
 Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice, 
 To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 
 Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
 Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
 And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
 With repetition of my Romeo's name. 
 
 Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name : 
 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
 Like softest musick to attending ears ! 
 
 Jul. Romeo ! 
 
 Rom. My sweet ! 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee ? 
 
 Rom. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee back. 
 
 Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 
 
 Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, 
 Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 
 
 Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone : 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
 So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
 
 Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 
 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I : 
 
 Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
 Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, 
 That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast ! — 
 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
 His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 
 
 325 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 FrL Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful man ; 
 Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, 
 And thou art wedded to calamity. 
 
 Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom ? 
 What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
 That I yet know not ? 
 
 FrL Too familiar 
 
 Is my dear son with such sour company : 
 I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 
 
 Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom ? 
 
 Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
 Not body's death, but body's banishment. 
 
 Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say — death : 
 For exile hath more terror in his look> 
 Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 
 
 Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished : 
 Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 
 
 Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, 
 And world's exile is death : — then banishment 
 Is death mis-term'd : calling death — banishment, 
 Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, 
 And smiFst upon the stroke that murders me. 
 
 Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness-! 
 Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince, 
 Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
 And turn'd that black word death to banishment : 
 This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here, 
 Where Juliet lives ; and every cat, and dog, 
 And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
 Live here in heaven, and may look on her, 
 But Romeo may not. — More validity, 
 More honourable state, more courtship lives 
 In carrion flies, than Romeo : they may seize 
 326 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, 
 
 And steal immortal blessing from her lips ; 
 
 Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, 
 
 Still blush as thinking their own kisses sin ; 
 
 But Romeo may not ; he is banished : 
 
 Flies may do this, when I from this must fly ; 
 
 They are free men, but I am banished. 
 
 And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death ? 
 
 Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, 
 
 No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, 
 
 But — banished — to kill me; banished? 
 
 O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
 
 Howlings attend it : How hast thou the heart, 
 
 Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
 
 A sin-absolver, and my friend professed, 
 
 To mangle me with that word — banishment ? 
 
 Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. 
 
 Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
 
 Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word ; 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
 To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
 
 Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up philosophy ! 
 Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
 Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; 
 It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 
 
 Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
 
 Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes ? 
 
 Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
 
 Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel : 
 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
 An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
 Doting like me, and like me banished, 
 Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair, 
 And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 
 Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
 
 Fri. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thyself. 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 
 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, 
 Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking. 
 
 Fri. Hark, how they knock ! — Who's there ? — Romeo, 
 arise ; 
 327 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Thou wilt be taken : — Stay awhile : — stand up ; 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Run to my study : — By and by : — God's will ! 
 What wilfulness is this? — I come, I come. [Knocking. 
 Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your 
 will? 
 Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know 
 my errand ; 
 I come from lady Juliet. 
 
 Fri. Welcome then. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, 
 Where is my lady's lord, w here's Romeo ? 
 
 Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made 
 drunk. 
 
 Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
 Just in her case ! 
 
 Fri. O woeful sympathy ! 
 
 Piteous predicament ! 
 
 Nurse. Even so lies she, 
 
 Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering : — 
 Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
 For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; 
 Why should you fall into so deep an O ? 
 
 Rom. Nurse! 
 
 Nurse. Ah sir ! ah sir ! — Well, death's the end of all. 
 
 Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet ? how is it with her ? 
 Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
 Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
 With blood remov'd but little from her own ? 
 Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says 
 My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? 
 
 Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ; 
 And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up, 
 And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
 And then down falls again. 
 
 Rom. As if that name, 
 
 Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
 Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand 
 Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me, 
 328 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 In what vile part of this anatomy 
 
 Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack 
 
 The hateful mansion. [Dr airing his sword, 
 
 Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : 
 
 Art thou a man ? thy form cries out, thou art ; 
 Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
 The unreasonable fury of a beast : 
 Unseemly woman, in a seeming man ! 
 Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both ! 
 Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order, 
 I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
 Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ? 
 And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
 By doing damned hate upon thyself ? 
 Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth ? 
 Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
 In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldst lose. 
 Fye, fye ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit ; 
 Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all, 
 And usest none in that true use indeed 
 Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 
 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
 Digressing from the valour of a man : 
 Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury, 
 Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish : 
 Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 
 Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
 Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, 
 Is set on fire by thine own ignorance, 
 And thou dismembered with thine own defence. 
 What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, 
 For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ; 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, 
 But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy too : 
 The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, 
 And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 
 A pack of blessings light upon thy back ; 
 Happiness courts thee in her best array ; 
 But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench, 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love : 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 329 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 
 Put, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, 
 For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
 Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
 To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
 Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 
 Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; ^ 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
 Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto : 
 Romeo is coming. 
 
 Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night, 
 To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! — 
 My lord, FH tell my lady you will come. 
 
 Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 
 
 Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir : 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 
 
 [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this 1 
 
 Fri. Go hence : Good night; and here stands all your 
 state ; — 
 Either be gone before the watch be set, 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
 Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man, 
 And he shall signify from time to time 
 Every good hap to you, that chances here : 
 Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. 
 
 Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
 It were a grief, so brief to part with thee. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 
 Enter Juliet and Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Ay, those attires are best: — But, gentle nurse, 
 I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
 For I have need of many orisons 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
 Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 
 330 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. What, are you busy ? do you need my help ? 
 
 Jul. No, madam ; we have culi'd such necessaries 
 As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
 So please you, let me now be left alone, 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 
 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
 In this so sudden busiuess. 
 
 La. Cap. Good night! 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Farewell ! — God knows, when we shall meet again. 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life : 
 1T1 call them back again to comfort me ; — 
 Nurse! — What should she do here? 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
 Come, phial. — 
 
 What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
 Must I of force be married to the county ? 
 No, no ; — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 
 
 [Laying down a dagger 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonoured, 
 Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
 I fear, it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 Come to redeem me ? there's a fearful point ! 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
 The horrible conceit of death and night, 
 Together with the terror of the place, — 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 331 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
 Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
 At some hours in the night spirits resort ; — 
 Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
 So early waking, — what with loathsome smells ; 
 And shrieks, like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ; — 
 O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught, 
 Environed with all these hideous fears ? 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints ? 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ? 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
 O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
 Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 Upon a rapier's point : — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
 Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 [She throws herself on the bed. 
 
 XVII. HAMLET. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE U.—Elsinore. A Room of State in 
 the Castle. 
 
 Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 Fye on't ! O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
 That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature, 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two : 
 So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, 
 332 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 
 By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
 
 Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman !— * 
 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, 
 
 With which she followed my poor father's body, 
 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
 
 heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, 
 My father's brother ; but no more like my father, 
 Than I to Hercules: Within a month: 
 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 
 She married : — O most wicked speed, to post 
 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
 
 But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 
 
 Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 
 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good friend ; Til change that name with you. 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — 
 Marcellus ? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir. — 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ? 
 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself : I know, you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
 We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
 
 1 think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 333 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — 
 My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. Where, 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw ! who ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham. The king my father ! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent ear ; till I may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead waist and middle of the night, 
 Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and, with solemn march, 
 Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd, 
 By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distuTd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them,, the third night kept the watch : 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this ? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did ; 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought, 
 It lifted wp its head, and did address 
 33± 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 And vanished from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night ? 
 
 All. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you? 
 
 All. Arm'd, my lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe t 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham. Then saw you not 
 
 His face ? 
 
 Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ? 
 
 Hor. A countenance more 
 
 In sorrow than in anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale, or red ? 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would, I had been there. 
 
 Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, 
 
 Very like : Stay'd it long ? 
 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 
 
 Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzl'd ? no. 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver'd. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night; 
 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble fathers person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold mv peace. I pray \ou all, 
 335 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
 I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 FU visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Hor. Mar. and Ber, 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come! 
 Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A room in Polonius' House. 
 
 Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that? 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. No more but so ? 
 
 Laer. Think it no more : 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow r alone 
 In thews, and bulk ; but, as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now ; 
 And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
 The virtue of his will : but, you must fear, 
 His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
 Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 
 336 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 The safety and the health of the whole state ; 
 
 And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd 
 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body, 
 
 Whereof he is the head : Then if he says he loves you, 
 
 It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, 
 
 As he in his particular act and place 
 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no further, 
 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
 
 Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 
 
 If with too credent ear you list his songs ; 
 
 Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open 
 
 To his unmaster'd importunity. 
 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 
 And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 
 
 Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes: 
 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring, 
 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 
 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 
 Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep, 
 As watchman to my heart : but, good my brother, 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven 
 Whilst, like a puffd and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Laer. O tear me not. 
 
 I stay too long; — But here my father comes. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame; 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 And you are staid for : There, — my blessing with you ; 
 
 [Laying his hand on Laertes* head. 
 337 Q 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 
 Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 
 Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
 
 Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, 
 
 Bear't, that th' opposer may beware of thee. 
 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 
 But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man; 
 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
 
 Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 
 This above all,— To thine ownself be true; 
 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 
 Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 
 
 Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants tend. 
 
 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, 
 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. Farewell. [Exit Laertes. 
 
 Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 
 
 Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well bethought : 
 Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time to you : and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and bounteous : 
 If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me, 
 And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
 338 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 As it behoves my daughter, and your honour : 
 What is between you? give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders 
 Of his affection to me. 
 
 Pol. Affection ! puh ! you speak like a green girJ, 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 
 
 Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby; 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly ; 
 Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
 Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me with love, 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. [lord, 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
 Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both, 
 Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
 You must not take for fire. From this time, 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
 Set your entreatments at a higher rate, 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him, That he is young ; 
 And with a larger tether may he walk, 
 Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
 Do not believe his vows : for they are brokers 
 Not of that die which their investments show, 
 But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
 Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, 
 The better to beguile. This is for all, — 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure, 
 As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet 
 Look to't, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 339 
 
INTERESTING SCENES, 
 
 SCENE IV. — The Platform. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 
 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 Ham. What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; it then draws near the 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [season, 
 
 [Noise of warlike music within. 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse, 
 Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-spring reels ; 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 
 But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born,— it is a custom 
 More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. 
 This heavy-headed revel, east and west, 
 Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: 
 They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
 Soil our addition; and, indeed it takes 
 From our achievements, though perform'd at height, 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So, oft it chances in particular men, 
 That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
 By the overgrowth of some complexion, 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ; — that these men,-r- 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, 
 As infinite as man may undergo,) 
 340 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 From that particular fault : the dram of base 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout, 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 
 
 Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! — 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
 That I will speak to thee; 111 call thee, Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 
 Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
 So horridly to shake our disposition, 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
 Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 
 
 [Ghost beckons Hamlet. 
 
 Hor, It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. [Holding Ham. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 
 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
 It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 
 341 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea? 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
 The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It waves me still : — 
 
 Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold off your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fate cries out, 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — [Ghost beckons. 
 Still am I callM ; — unhand me, gentlemen ; — 
 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
 I say, away: — Goon, I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Gh.fy Ham. 
 
 Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 
 
 Hor. Have after : — To what issue will this come ?■■ 
 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A more remote part of the Platform. 
 
 Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak, I'll go no 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. [further. 
 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 342 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 
 
 Ham. What? 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
 Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night ; 
 And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, 
 Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
 Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 And each particular hair to stand on end 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 To ears of flesh and blood ; — List, list, O list ! — 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Ham. O heaven ! 
 
 Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. 
 
 Ham. Murder? 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as 
 swift 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt ; 
 
 And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
 Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 
 Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O, my prophetick soul ! my uncle ! 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
 343 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
 O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity, 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 To those of mine ! 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft ! methinks, I scent the morning air ; 
 Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 My custom always of the afternoon, 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd : 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 UnhouseFd, disappointed, unaneFd ; 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head : 
 O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 344 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! 
 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
 And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [Exit. 
 
 Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! What else ? 
 And shall I couple hell ? — O fye ! — Hold, hold, my heart ; 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 But bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ? 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe. Remember thee? 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, 
 All saws of books, all forms, ail pressures past, 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! 
 My tables, — meet it is, I set it down, 
 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
 
 At least, I am sure, it maybe so in Denmark : [Writing. 
 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
 
 It is, Adieu, adieu! remember me. 
 
 1 have sworn't. 
 
 Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord, 
 
 Mar. [Within.] Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him ! 
 
 Ham. So be it! 
 
 Mar. [Within.] Iilo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? 
 Hor. What news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. O, wonderful ! 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; 
 
 You will reveal it. 
 
 345 Q 2 
 
INTERESTING SCENES 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man once 
 think it? — 
 But you'll be secret, — 
 
 Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark, 
 But he's an arrant knave. 
 
 Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the 
 To tell us this. [grave, 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part : 
 You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
 For every man hath business, and desire, 
 Such as it is, — and, for my own poor part, 
 Look you, I will go pray. 
 
 Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
 Taith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
 And much offence too. Touching this vision here, — 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'er- master it as you may. And now, good friends, 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. What is't, my lord ? 
 
 We will. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. 
 
 Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear't. 
 
 Hor. In faith, 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. [penny? 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say'stthouso? art thou there, true- 
 3±6 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Come on, — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Hie <Jf ubique? then we'll shift our ground :— 
 Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Swear by my sword, 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. [fast? 
 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! can'st work i' th' earth so 
 A worthy pioneer! — Once more remove, good friends. 
 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange ! 
 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 But come ; — — 
 
 Here as before, never, so help you mercy ! 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 To put an antick disposition on, — 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head- shake, 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 As, Well, well, we know ; — or, We could, an if we would; — 
 or, If we list to speak; — or, There be, an if they might; — 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gentlemen, 
 With all ray love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together ; 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint; — O cursed spite! 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 347 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV.— The Queens Apartment. 
 
 Enter Queen and Polonius. 
 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look, yon lay home to 
 him : 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; 
 And that your grace hath screened and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Queen. I'll warrant you ; 
 
 Fear me not: — -withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 [Polonius hides himself behind the arras. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Now, mother; what's the matter? 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 
 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 
 
 Ham. What's the matter now? 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 And, — 'Would it were not so ! — you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. 
 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass [budge ; 
 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 
 Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me ? 
 Help, help, ho ! 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'] What, ho ! help ! 
 
 Ham. How now ! a rat ? 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead. [Ham. kills Polon. 
 
 Pol. [Behind.] O, I am slain. 
 
 Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 Is it the king ? 
 
 Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
 348 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. A bloody deed ; — almost as bad, good mother, 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
 
 Queen. As kill a king! 
 
 Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! [To Pol. 
 I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune : 
 Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — 
 Leave wringing of your hands : Peace ; sit you down, 
 And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff ; 
 If damned custom have not braz'd it so, 
 That it be proof and bulwark against sense. [tongue 
 
 Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy 
 In noise so rude against me ? 
 
 Ham. Such an act, 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow ; 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
 With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? 
 
 Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this ; 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
 Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself ; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
 A station like the herald Mercury, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows: 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
 349 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 
 And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 
 
 You cannot call it, love : for, at your age, 
 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
 
 And waits upon the judgement; And what judgement 
 
 Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have, 
 
 Else, could you not have motion : But, sure, that sense 
 
 Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err; 
 
 Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, 
 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, 
 
 To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, 
 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? 
 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, 
 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 
 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 
 Could not so mope. 
 
 O shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious hell, 
 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 
 And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame, 
 
 When the compulsive ardour gives the charge ; 
 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn, 
 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more : 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots, 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed ; 
 Stew'd in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
 Over the nasty stye ; 
 
 Queen. O, speak to me no more ; 
 
 These words, like daggers enter in mine ears; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. A murderer, and a villain : 
 
 A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
 Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
 And put it in his pocket! 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 350 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 Ham. A king 
 
 Of shreds and patches : — 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious figure ? 
 
 Queen. Alas, he's mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
 Th' important acting of your dread command ? 
 O, say ! 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
 O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works ; 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is't with you? 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
 And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in th ? alarm, 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, 
 Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 
 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he glares ! 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
 Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me; 
 Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
 My stern effects : then what I have to do 
 Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? 
 
 Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. W T hy, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! 
 My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 351 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstacy! 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful musick : It is not madness, 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
 Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what's past; avoid what is to come ; 
 And do not spread the compost on the weeds, 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue : 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg ; 
 Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 
 
 Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 Good night : but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat. 
 Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this ; 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock, or livery, 
 That aptly is put on : Refrain to-night ; 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy : 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 And either curb the devil, or throw him out 
 With wondrous potency. Once more, good night ; 
 And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
 I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 
 
 [Pointing to POLONIUS. 
 I do repent : but heaven hath pleas'd it so, — 
 To punish me with this, and this with me, 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 352 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 I will bestow him, and will answer well 
 
 The death I gave him. So, again, good night!— 
 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind ; 
 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
 
 But one word more, good lady. 
 
 Queen. What shall I do ? 
 
 Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
 Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you, his mouse ; 
 And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
 Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
 That I essentially am not in madness, 
 But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know : 
 For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 
 Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, 
 Such dear concernings hide? who would do so? 
 No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, 
 Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 
 Let the birds fly; and, like the famous ape, 
 To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 
 And break your own neck down. 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
 What thou hast said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England; you know that? 
 
 Queen. Alack, 
 
 I had forgot ; 'tis so concluded on. [lows, — 
 
 Ham. There's letters sea I'd : and my two school-fel- 
 Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, — 
 They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, 
 And marshal me to knavery : Let it work ; 
 For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer 
 Hoist with his own petar : and it shall go hard, 
 But I will delve one yard below their mines, 
 And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet, 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. — 
 This man shall set me packing. 
 I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room : — 
 Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, 
 353 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you :— 
 Good night, mother. 
 
 f Exeunt severally ; Ham. dragging in Pol. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. — A Church-yard. 
 
 Enter two Clowns, with spades, <5fc. 
 
 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that wil- 
 fully seeks her own salvation ? 
 
 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave 
 straight : the crowner hath set on her, and finds it chris- 
 tian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in 
 her own defence? 
 
 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 
 
 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. 
 For here lies the point : If I drown myself wittingly, it ar- 
 gues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, 
 to do, and to perform : Argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 
 
 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: 
 here stands the man ; good: If the man go to this water, 
 and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes ; mark 
 you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, 
 he drowns not himself : Argal, he, that is not guilty of his 
 own death, shortens not his own life. 
 
 2 Clo. But is this law ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 
 
 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been 
 a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of chris- 
 tian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the more pity; 
 that great folks shall have countenance in this world to 
 drown or hang themselves, more than their even christian. 
 Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gar- 
 deners, ditchers, and grave-makers ; they hold up Adam's 
 profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 354 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 S Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost thou understand 
 the scripture ? The scripture says, Adam digged ; Could 
 he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee: 
 if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself 
 
 2 Clo. Go to. 
 
 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the 
 mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 
 
 2 Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives a 
 thousand tenants. 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith ; the gallows 
 does well: But how does it well? it does well to those 
 that do ill : now thou dost ill, to say, the gallows is built 
 stronger than the church ; argal, the gallows may do well 
 to thee. To't again ; come. 
 
 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, 
 or a carpenter ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 1 Clo. To't. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 
 
 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for your 
 dull ass will not mend his pace with beating : and, when 
 you are asked this question next, say, a grave-maker ; the 
 houses that he makes, last till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
 Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clo. 
 In youth, when I did love, did love, [Digs and sings. 
 
 Melhought, it was very sweet, 
 To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, 
 O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
 
 Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? he sings 
 at grave-making. 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment hath 
 the daintier sense. 
 
 1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, 
 Hath claw'd me in his clutch, 
 And hath shipped me into the land, 
 
 As if I had never been such. [Throws up a scull. 
 
 Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
 355 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were 
 Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! This might be 
 the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches ; 
 one that would circumvent God, might it not ? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say, Good-morrow, 
 sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord? This might be 
 my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one's 
 horse, when he meant to beg it ; might it not ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my lady Worm's ; chap- 
 less, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade : 
 Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did 
 these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at log- 
 gats with them ? mine ache to think on't. 
 
 1 Clo a A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Sings, 
 
 For — and a shrouding sheet : 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 
 For such a guest is meet. [Throws up a scull. 
 
 Ham. There's another : Why may not that be the scull 
 of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his 
 cases, his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he suffer this 
 rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty 
 shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? 
 Humph! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of 
 land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his 
 double vouchers, his recoveries : Is this the fine of his fines, 
 and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate 
 full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more 
 of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and 
 breadth of a pair of indentures ? The very conveyances of 
 his lands will hardly lie in this box ; and must the inheritor 
 himself have no more ? ha ? 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calves-skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out as- 
 surance in that. 1 will speak to this fellow: — Whose 
 grave's this, sirrah ? 
 
 I Clo. Mine, sir. — 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made [Sings. 
 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 356 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Hum. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in't. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not 
 yours : for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine : 
 'tis for the dead, not for the quick ; therefore thou liest. 
 
 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again, from me 
 to you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 
 
 1 Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman then ? 
 
 1 Clo. For none neither. 
 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in't ? 
 
 1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir ; but, rest her soul, 
 she's dead. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is! We must speak by 
 the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, 
 Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it ; the 
 age is grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes 
 so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. — How 
 long hast thou been a grave-maker ? 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day 
 that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 
 
 Ham. How long's that since f 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: 
 It was that very day that young Hamlet was born : he that 
 is mad, and sent into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover 
 his wits there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there the men 
 are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely ? 
 
 1 Clo. Taith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sexton 
 here, man, and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we 
 357 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold 
 the laying in,) he will last you some eight year, or nine 
 year : a tanner will last you nine year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, 
 that he will keep out water a great while ; and your water 
 is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a 
 scull now hath lain you i'th' earth three-and-twenty years. 
 
 Ham. Whose was it? 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ; Whose do you 
 think it was ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not. 
 
 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured 
 a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, 
 sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. 
 
 Ham. This ? [Takes the scull. 
 
 1 Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poorYorick! — I knew him, Horatio; a 
 fellow r of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath 
 borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how 
 abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. 
 Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how 
 oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols ? your 
 songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set 
 the table on a roar ? Not one now, to mock your own 
 grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? Now get you to my lady's 
 chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this 
 favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. — 
 Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What's that, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o'this fashion 
 i'th' earth? 
 
 Hor. E'en so. 
 
 Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! [Throws down the scull. 
 
 Hor. E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! 
 Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alex- 
 ander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole ? 
 
 Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither 
 with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : as thus ; 
 358 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander re- 
 turneth to dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam : 
 And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might 
 they not stop a beer-barrel ? 
 
 Imperious Caesar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
 O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
 
 *^.++^+*ir*+ 
 
 XVIII. OTHELLO. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE HI.— Council Chamber. 
 
 Duke, Senators, fyc. 
 
 Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and 
 Officers. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; [To Bra. 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
 Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general care 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
 Is of so flood-gate and overbearing nature, 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter! 
 
 Sen. Dead? 
 
 Bra. Ay, to me ; 
 
 She is abus'd, stoFn from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
 For nature so preposterously to err, 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans witchcraft could not 
 
 Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding, 
 Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 359 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
 
 After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
 
 Stood in your action. 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems, 
 Your special mandate, for the state affairs, 
 Hath hither brought. 
 
 Duke Sf Sen. We are very sorry for it. 
 
 Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to this ? 
 
 [To Othello 
 
 Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 
 
 Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in speech, 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 Their dearest action in the tented field; 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking for myself : Yet, by your gracious patience, 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms. 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold ; 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Rlush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — 
 To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on? 
 It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
 That will confess — perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell, 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood ? 
 360 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Or with some dram, conjur'd to this effect, 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this, is no proof ; 
 
 Without more certain and more overt test, 
 Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
 Of modern seeming, do prefer against him. 
 
 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak ; — 
 Did you by indirect and forced courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ? 
 Or came it by request, and such fair question 
 As soul to soul affordeth ? 
 
 Oth. I do beseech you, 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her father : 
 If you do find me foul in her report, 
 The trust, the office, I do hold of you, 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 Oth. Ancient, conductthem ; you best know the place. — 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven [Exit I ago. 
 I do confess the vices of my blood, 
 So justly to your grave ears Til present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 Oth. Her father lovM me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 To th' very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents, by flood, and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach ; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 36l R 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And oi the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear 
 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 
 Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 
 But not intentively : I did consent ; 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 
 She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ; 
 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she thanked me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : 
 
 She lov*d me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have us'd ; 
 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. I think, this tale would wia my daughter too.— 
 Good Brabantio, 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra . I pray you, hear her speak ; 
 
 If she confess, that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress ; 
 Do you perceive, in all this noble company, 
 Where most you owe obedience ? 
 362 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Des. My noble father, 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty: 
 To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
 My life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
 I am hitherto your daughter : But here's my husband ; 
 And so much duty as my mother show'd 
 To you, preferring you before her father, 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. God be with you! — I have done : — 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs ; 
 I had rather to adopt a child, than get it. — 
 Come hither, Moor : 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 I would keep from thee. — For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
 To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Let me speak like yourself ; and lay a sentence, 
 Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers 
 Into your favour. — 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
 The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief ; 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears, 
 But the free comfort which from thence he hears : 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow, 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow 
 These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, 
 Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
 But words are words; I never yet did hear, 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear* 
 363 
 
INTERESTING SCENES 
 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 
 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
 makes for Cyprus : — Othello, the fortitude of the place is 
 best known to you: And though we have there a substi- 
 tute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign 
 mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you : you 
 must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your 
 new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous ex^ 
 pedition. 
 
 Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
 A natural and prompt alacrity, 
 I find in hardiness ; and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
 I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
 Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
 With such accommodation, and besort, 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Duke. If you please, 
 
 Be't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I'll not have it so. 
 
 Oth. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 
 
 To pu-t my father in impatient thoughts, 
 By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
 To my unfolding lend a gracious ear ; 
 And let me find a charter in your voice, 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 
 My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
 May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued 
 Even to the very quality of my lord : 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honours, and his valiant parts, 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
 The rites, for which I love him, are bereft me, 
 364 
 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 
 By his dear absence: Let me go with him. 
 
 Oth. Your voices, lords : — 'beseech you, let her will 
 Have a free way. — 
 
 Vouch with me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not, 
 To please the palate of my appetite ; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young affects, 
 In my distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
 And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
 I will your serious and great business scant, 
 For she is with me : No, when light-wing'd toys 
 Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness 
 My speculative and active instruments, 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
 Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 Make head against my estimation ! 
 
 Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
 Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries — haste, 
 And speed must answer it; you must hence to-night. 
 
 Des. To-night, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. This night. 
 
 Oth. With all my heart. 
 
 Duke. At nine i'th' morning here we'll meet again. 
 Othello, leave some officer behind, 
 And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
 With such things else of quality and respect, 
 As doth import you. 
 
 Oth. Please your grace, my ancient; 
 
 A man he is of honestv, and trust : 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife, 
 With what else needful your good grace shall think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so. — 
 
 Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, [To Bra. 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 
 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona well. 
 
 Bra. Look to her, Moor ; have a quick eye to see ; 
 She has deceived her father, and may thee. [Exit Duke, fyc. 
 365 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Oth. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee ; 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage.— 
 Come, Desdemona ; I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time. [Exeunt . 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. — Before the Castle. 
 Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 
 
 Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 All my abilities in thy behalf. 
 
 Emil. Good madam, do ; I know it grieves my husband, 
 As if the case were his. 
 
 Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, Cassio, 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cas. Bounteous madam, 
 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never any thing but your true servant. 
 
 Des. O, sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
 You have known him long ; and be you well assur'd, 
 He shall in strangeness, stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, lady, 
 
 That policy may either last so long, 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
 My general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee, 
 If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
 To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
 I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience ; 
 His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
 I'll intermingle every thing he does 
 With Cassio's suit : Therefore be merry, Cassio; 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die, 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 366 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance. 
 
 Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 
 
 Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, stay, 
 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Cas. Madam not now; I am very ill at ease, 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, well, 
 
 Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 
 
 Iago. Ha ! I like not that. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say ? 
 
 Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. 
 
 Oth. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 
 
 Iago. Cassio, my lord i No, sure, I cannot think it, 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like, 
 Seeing you coming. 
 
 Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord ? 
 1 have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 Oth. Who is't you mean ? 
 
 Des. W T hy, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord, 
 If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
 His present reconciliation take ; 
 For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
 That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 I have no judgment in an honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Went he hence now f 
 
 Des. Ay, sooth; so humbled, 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
 I suffer with him. Good love, call him back, 
 
 Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some other time. 
 
 Des. But shall't be shortly? 
 
 Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 
 
 Des. ShalFt be to-night at supper ? 
 
 Oth. No, not to-night. 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 
 
 Oth. I shall not dine at home; 
 
 I meet the captains at the citadel. 
 367 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday morn ; 
 Or Tuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ;— 
 I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
 Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; 
 And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
 (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
 Out of their best,) is not almost a fault 
 To incur a private check : When shall he come ? 
 Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, 
 What you could ask me, that I should deny, 
 Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
 That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, 
 When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
 Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much, — 
 
 Oth. Pr'ythee, no more : let him come when he will ; 
 I will deny thee nothing. 
 
 Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 
 
 ? Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, 
 Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm ; 
 Or sue to you to do peculiar profit 
 To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit, 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
 It shall be full of poize and difficulty, 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 Oth. I will deny thee nothing : 
 
 Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
 To leave but a little to myself. 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you ? no : Farewell, my lord. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona : I will come to thee 
 straight. 
 
 Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach you ; 
 Whatever you be, I am obedient. [Exit, with Emilia. 
 
 Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul, 
 But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 Iago. My noble lord, — — 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say, Iago ? 
 
 Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, 
 Know of your love ? 
 
 Oth. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou ask ? 
 368 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Tago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
 No further harm. 
 
 Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago ? 
 
 Iago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with her. 
 
 Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft. 
 
 Iago. Indeed? 
 
 Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : — Discern'st thou aught in 
 Is he not honest ? [that ? 
 
 Iago. Honest, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, honest. 
 
 Iago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou think? 
 
 Iago. Think, my lord? 
 
 Oth. Think, my lord ! 
 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if there were some monster in his thought 
 Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something : 
 I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that 9 
 When Cassio left my wife; W T hat did'st not like ? 
 And, when I told thee — he was of my counsel, 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, Indeed ? 
 And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit ; If thou dost love me, 
 Show me thy thought. 
 
 Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 Oth. I think thou dost ; 
 
 And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, — 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
 For such things, in a false disloyal knave, 
 Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just, 
 They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 Iago. For Michael Cassio, — 
 
 I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 
 
 Oth. I think so too. 
 
 Iago. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 
 
 Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 Iago. Why then, I think that Cassio is an honest man. 
 369 R b 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
 I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
 The worst of words. 
 
 Iago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts ! Why, say, they are vile and false, — 
 As where's that palace, whereinto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure, 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful ? 
 
 Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 Iago. I do beseech you, — 
 
 Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses ; and, oft, my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then, 
 From one that so imperfectly conjects, 
 You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
 It were not for your quiet, nor your good, 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou mean ? 
 
 Iago. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 
 TTwas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 But he, that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. 
 
 Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Iago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 
 It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
 370 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 The meat it feeds on : That cuckold lives in bliss, 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er, 
 Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 Oth. O misery ! 
 
 Iago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough ; 
 But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, 
 To him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 From jealousy ! 
 
 Oth. Why ? why is this ? 
 
 Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the changes of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions ? No : to be once in doubt, 
 Is— once to be resolvd : Exchange me for a goat, 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To such exsuffolate and blown surmises, 
 Matching thy inference. Tis not to make me jealous, 
 To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ; 
 Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
 For she had eyes, and chose me : No, Iago ; 
 I'll see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
 Away at once with love, or jealousy. 
 
 Iago. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
 To show the love and duty that I bear you 
 With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, 
 Receive it from me : — I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to't : 
 I know our country disposition well ; 
 In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not show their husbands ; their best conscience 
 Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou say so ? 
 
 Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
 371 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 Oth. And so she did. 
 
 Iago. Why, go to, then ; 
 
 She that, so young, could give out Such a seeming, 
 To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak, — 
 He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But I'm much to blame ; 
 I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 
 
 Iago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 
 
 Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 
 
 Iago. Trust me, I fear it has. 
 
 I hope, you will consider, what is spoke 
 Comes from my love ; — But, I do see you are mov'd : — 
 I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 Oth. I will not. 
 
 Iago. Should you do so, my lord, 
 
 My speech would fall into such vile success 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend : — 
 My lord, I see you are mov'd. 
 
 Oth. No, not much mov'd : — 
 
 1 do not think but Desdemona's honest. 
 
 Iago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think so ! 
 
 Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 
 
 Iago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold with 
 Not to affect many proposed matches [ vou > — 
 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; 
 Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
 Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
 But, pardon me ; I do not, in position, 
 Distinctly speak of her : though I may fear, 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
 May fall to match you with her country forms, 
 And, haply, so repent. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, Iago. 
 372 
 
■o* 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Iago. My lord, I take my leave. [Goin^ 
 
 Oth. Why did I marry ? — This honest creature, doubt 
 Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds, [less, 
 
 Iago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honour 
 To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
 And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
 (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
 Yet, if you please to hold him off a while, 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
 Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
 With any strong or vehement opportunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 (As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 
 
 Oth. Fear not my government. 
 
 Iago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Oth. This fellow r 's of exceeding honesty, 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
 I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have : Or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not much ; — 
 She's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief 
 Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage, 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
 And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, 
 And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 
 Than keep a corner in the thing I love, 
 For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones ; 
 Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ; 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; 
 Even then this forked plague is fated to us, 
 When we do quicken. Desdemona comes : 
 
 Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
 
 If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself ! — 
 I'll not believe it. 
 373 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 
 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
 Oth. I am to blame. 
 
 Des. Why is your speech so faint? are you not well? 
 
 Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 
 Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again: 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
 It will be well. 
 
 Oth. Your napkin is too little ; 
 
 [She drops her handkerchief. 
 Let it alone. Come, 111 go in with you. 
 
 Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth. and Des. 
 
 Emit. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
 This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
 My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it : But she so loves the token, 
 (For he conjured her, she would ever keep it,) 
 That she reserves it evermore about her, 
 To kiss, and talk to. Ill have the work ta'en out, 
 And give it Iago : 
 
 What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I ; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Iago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 
 
 Emit. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. 
 
 Iago. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 
 
 Emil. Ha! 
 
 Iago. To have a foolish wife ? 
 
 Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now 
 For that same handkerchief ? 
 
 Iago. What handkerchief ? 
 
 Emil. What handkerchief! 
 Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 
 Iago. Hast stolen it from her? 
 
 Emil. No, faith ; she let it drop by negligence; 
 And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 374 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Iago. A good wench ! give it me. [earnest 
 
 EmiL What will you do with it, that you have been so 
 To have me filch it? 
 
 Iago. Why, what's that to you ? [Snatching it. 
 
 EmiL If it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give't me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 When she shall lack it. 
 
 Iago. Be not you known oft ; I have use for it. 
 Go, leave me. [Exit EMILIA. 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
 And let him find it: Trifles, light as air, 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : — 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; 
 But, with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say so: — 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor tnandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 
 
 Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? 
 
 Tome? 
 
 Iago. Why, how now, general ? no more of that. 
 
 Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the rack : — 
 I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, 
 Than but to know't a little. 
 
 Iago. How now, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust ? 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, 
 Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all. 
 
 Iago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known : O now, for ever, 
 375 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Farewell Ihe tranquil mind ! farewell content! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner ; and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 
 
 Iago. Is it possible ? — My lord, — — 
 
 Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore ; 
 Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof ; 
 
 [Catching hold of him. 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, 
 Than answer my wak'd wrath. 
 
 Iago. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Oth. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove it, 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
 To hang a doubt on : or, woe upon thy life ! 
 
 Iago. My noble lord, 
 
 Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
 Never pray more : abandon all remorse ; 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate : 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add, 
 Greater than that. 
 
 Iago. O grace ! O heaven defend me ! 
 
 Are you a man ? have you a soul, or sense ? — 
 God be wi'you; take mine office. — O wretched fool, 
 That liv'st to make thirae honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, 
 
 I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 
 
 Oth. Nay, stay: — Thou shouldst be honest. 
 
 Iago. I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool, 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 Oth. By the world, 
 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not; 
 376 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 I think that thou art just, and think thou art not; 
 
 I'll have some proof : Her name, that was as fresh 
 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives, 
 
 Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
 
 I'll not endure it. — Would, I were satisfied ! 
 
 Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
 I do repent me, that I put it to you. 
 You would be satisfied ? 
 
 Oth. Would? nay, I will. 
 
 Iago. And may : But, how ? how satisfied, my lord ? 
 Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? 
 Behold her tuppM ? 
 
 Oth. Death and damnation ! O ! 
 
 Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, 
 To bring them to that prospect : Damn them then, 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster, 
 More than their own ! What then ? how then ? 
 What shall I say ? Where's satisfaction ? 
 It is impossible, you should see this, 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
 As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 
 If imputation, and strong circumstances, — 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, — 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 
 
 Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 
 
 Iago. I do not like the office : 
 But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, — 
 Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; 
 And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. — 
 
 There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
 That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 In sleep I heard him say, — Sweet Desdemona, 
 JLet us be wary, let us hide our loves ! 
 And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand, 
 Cry, — O, sweet creature I and then kiss me hard, 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
 377 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then 
 Cry'd, — Cursed fate ! that gave thee to the Moor! 
 
 Oth, O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, this was but his dream. 
 
 Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion ; 
 Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 
 
 Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, 
 That do demonstrate thinly. 
 
 Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. 
 
 Iago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing done ; 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, — 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief, 
 Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand t 
 
 Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first gift. 
 
 Iago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief, 
 (I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 Oth. If it be that,— 
 
 Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 
 It speaks against her with the other proofs. 
 
 Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ; 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
 Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, Iago ; 
 All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven: 
 'Tis gone. — 
 
 Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, 
 To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
 For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 
 
 Iago. Pray, be content. 
 
 Oth. O, blood, Iago, blood ! 
 
 Iago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may change. 
 
 Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontic, and the Hellespont; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable and wide revenge 
 Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven, 
 378 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. 
 
 I here engage my words. 
 
 Iago. Do not rise yet. — [Kneels. 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
 You elements that clip us round about ! 
 Witness, that here Iago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
 To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command, 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
 What bloody work soever. 
 
 Oth. I greet thy love, 
 
 Not wifli vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't : 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say, 
 That Cassio's not alive. 
 
 Iago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done, at your request : 
 But let her live. 
 
 Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 
 
 Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 
 
 Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACTV. SCENE II.— A Bedchamber ; Desdemonaw 
 discovered asleep in her bed. 
 
 Enter Othello, with a light and a sword. 
 
 Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. [Takes off his sword. 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 Put out the light, and then put out the light : 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine, 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 1 know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose, 
 379 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 
 It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, 
 And love thee after : — One more, and this the last : 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly; 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — ■ 
 
 Des. Who's there? Othello? 
 
 Oth. Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime, 
 Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that ? 
 
 Oth. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk by : 
 
 1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit; 
 
 No, — Heaven forefend ! — I would not kill thy soul. 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing? 
 
 Oth. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me! 
 
 Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 
 
 Oth. Humph! 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then, 
 When your eyes roll so : Why I should fear, I know not, 
 Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 Oth. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you 
 
 Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
 
 Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. — 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
 These are portents ; but yet, I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 Oth. Peace, and be still ! 
 
 380 
 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Des. I will so : What's the matter ? 
 
 Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and gave thee, 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soul ; 
 
 Send for the man, and ask him. 
 
 Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, 
 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou'rt on thy death -bed. 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 Oth. Yes, presently: 
 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 For to deny each article with oath, 
 Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
 That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me! 
 
 Oth. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did 
 Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
 But with such general warranty of heaven 
 As I might love : I never gave him token. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. 
 
 perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
 And mak'st me call, what I intend to do,— . 
 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it then ; 
 
 I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, 
 And let him confess a truth. 
 
 Oth. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. That he hath— us'd thee. 
 
 Des. How? unlawfully? 
 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Des. He'll not say so. 
 
 Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 
 
 Honest Iago hath ta'en order for'L 
 
 Des. My fear interprets then, — What is he dead ? 
 
 Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to my face ? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 
 381 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Oth. Down, strumpet ! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 
 
 Oth. Nay, if you strive, — — 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 Oth. Being done, 
 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while I say one prayer. 
 
 Oth. It is too late. [He smothers her. 
 
 Emil. [Within.] My lord, my lord ! what ho ! my lord ! 
 my lord ! 
 
 Oth. What noise is this ? — Not dead ! Not yet quite 
 dead ? 
 I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain.— 
 So, so. 
 
 Emil. [Within .] What ho! my lord, my lord! 
 
 Oth. Who's there ? 
 
 Emil. [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak a 
 word with you. 
 
 Oth. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by. — She's dead. 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; 
 The noise was high. — Ha ! no more moving? 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good? 
 I think, she stirs again : — No. — What's the best ? 
 If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
 My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? — I have no wife : 
 O, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! 
 Me thinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 Of sun and moon ; and that th' affrighted globe 
 Should yawn at alteration. 
 
 Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you I may speak with you, 
 O, good my lord ! 
 
 Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia : — 
 Soft, — by and by : — Let me the curtains draw. — 
 Where art thou ? What's the matter with thee now ? 
 
 [Unlocks the door. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emit. O, good my lord, yonder's foul murder done. 
 
 Oth. What? now? 
 
 Emil. But now, my lord ! 
 
 382 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Oth. It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She comes more near the earth than she was wont ; 
 And makes men mad. 
 
 Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Venetian, 
 Call'd— Roderigo. 
 
 Oth. Roderigo kill'd ! 
 
 And Cassio kill'd ? 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ? Then murder's out of tune, 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
 
 Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 Emil. Alas! what cry is that? 
 
 Oth. That! what? 
 
 Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice : 
 Help ! help, ho ! help ! — O lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona ! O, sweet mistress, speak ! 
 
 Des. A guiltless death I die. 
 
 Emil. O, who hath done 
 
 This deed? 
 
 Des. Nobody ; I myself ; farewell : 
 Commend me to my kind lord ; O, farewell. [Dies. 
 
 Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows I 
 
 Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 
 
 Emil. She said so; I must needs report the truth. 
 
 Oth. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell; 
 Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. O, the more angel she, 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 
 
 Oth. She was false as water. 
 
 Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 
 
 That she was false ; O, she was heavenly true ! 
 
 Oth. Cassio did tup her ; ask thy husband else. 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity ; Thy husband knew it all. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 Oth. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? 
 383 
 
INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 Oth. Ay, with Cassio. 
 
 Nay, had she been true, 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
 I'd not have sold her for it. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first ; 
 An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? [band. 
 
 Oth. What needs this iterance, woman ? I say, thy hus- 
 
 Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love ! — 
 My husband say, that she was false ? 
 
 Oth. He, woman ; 
 
 I say, thy husband ; Dost understand the word ? 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. 
 
 Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to th' heart ; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Emil. Do thy worst : 
 
 This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, 
 Than thou wast worthy her. 
 
 Oth. Peace, you were best. 
 
 Emit. Thou hast not half the power to do me harm, 
 As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, — 
 I care not for thy sword ; Til make thee known, 
 Though I lost twenty lives : — Help ! help, ho ! help ! 
 The Moor has kilTd my mistress ; Murder ! murder ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 384 
 
INDEX. 
 
 -All's Well That Ends Well. 
 
 Page 
 
 Advice . • l 
 
 Advice to Girls 2 
 
 Affection 2 
 
 Ambitious Love ........ 4 
 
 ^Chastity IT 
 
 Courtier 26 
 
 Coward ».27 
 
 Delay 33 
 
 Dislike 38 
 
 Human Life 78 
 
 Maid's Honour .106 
 
 Personal Virtue 140 
 
 Rashness of Youth 153 
 
 Remedy of Evils 155 
 
 Reserve 157 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Ambition * • 4 
 
 Antony's Character 5 
 
 Cleopatra's Character ....... 18 
 
 Cleopatra sailing down the 
 
 Cydnus 18 
 
 Cleopatra's supposed Death ..18 
 
 Death 29 
 
 Despondence 35 
 
 Early Rising 43 
 
 Faults ...53 
 
 Fury ........ 65 
 
 Greatness 69 
 
 Infatuation 89 
 
 Judgment 95 
 
 life loathed .....98 
 
 Love 100 
 
 Loyalty 104 
 
 Luxury 104 
 
 Moderation 115 
 
 Parting ....134 
 
 Popularity 144 
 
 Prayer 146 
 
 Rapture . . 153 
 
 Reproach 157 
 
 Resolution 160 
 
 Wisdom and Fortune ....... 188 
 
 Women 191 
 
 As You Like It. 
 Adversity •••••••••••••• 1 
 
 385 
 
 Page 
 
 Beauty Vt 
 
 Caprice 15 
 
 Deer wounded 32 
 
 Female Friendship 55 
 
 Fool's Liberty of Speech 60 
 
 Gratitude 68 
 
 Ingratitude 89 
 
 Love 99 
 
 Love dissembled 101 
 
 Lover 103 
 
 Marks of a Lover. 108 
 
 Melancholy 110 
 
 Modesty 116 
 
 Mortality 118 
 
 Old Age 126 
 
 Peril . 138 
 
 Satire 163 
 
 Shepherd 167 
 
 Shepherd's Philosophy 168 
 
 Solitude 17 1 
 
 Supplication 178 
 
 Woman in Man's Apparel. ..190 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Conjuror 22 
 
 Jealousy 80, 81 
 
 Man's Pre-eminence 107 
 
 Old Age 127 
 
 Patience 136 
 
 Slander 169 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Admiration .1 
 
 Anarchy 4 
 
 Anger .5 
 
 Chastity 17 
 
 Detestation of the Vulgar *..,35 
 
 Duty 42 
 
 Feasting. „ ..54 
 
 Fortitude ...6t 
 
 Hatred 71 
 
 Honour 76 
 
 Honour and Policy 76 
 
 Hypocrisy 79 
 
 Menace Ill 
 
 Mob 115 
 
 Oration 129 
 
 Popular Favour 144 
 
 S 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Prayer . • 146 
 
 Relenting Tenderness 155 
 
 Solicitation 169 
 
 World 192 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Army routed 8 
 
 Braggarts • 14 
 
 Death «, 30 
 
 Falsehood 53 
 
 Fool-hardiness 60 
 
 Funeral Dirge 64 
 
 Gold 66 
 
 Husband 78 
 
 Impatience 86 
 
 Innocence 92 
 
 Labour 97 
 
 Melancholy 110 
 
 Oration, Funeral 130 
 
 Parting 134 
 
 Parting of Lovers 136 
 
 Slander 169 
 
 Sorrow 172 
 
 Woman in Man's Apparel. . .190 
 Women, an Invective against 191 
 Youth 193 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Calumny .15 
 
 Coxcomb 27 
 
 Desperation 34 
 
 Fiction 56 
 
 Friendship .63 
 
 Funeral 64 
 
 Grief 70 
 
 Guilt 71 
 
 Hypocrisy 80 
 
 Kings 96 
 
 Madness 105 
 
 Man 107 
 
 Marriage 109 
 
 Melancholy ,110 
 
 Morning 117 
 
 Night 123 
 
 Ophelia drowning 128 
 
 Opinion 128 
 
 Players 142 
 
 Prodigies 149 
 
 Providence 150,151 
 
 Slander 169 
 
 386 
 
 Page 
 
 Sorrow 173 
 
 Suicide . . • 176 
 
 Virtue 185 
 
 Henry IV Part I. 
 
 Challenge 16 
 
 Danger 28 
 
 Dignity 36 
 
 Eulogium on Hotspur 47 
 
 Fop described 61 
 
 Henry V. Defence 72 
 
 Honour 75 
 
 Impatience 86 
 
 Peace 137 
 
 Prodigies 149 
 
 Prodigies ridiculed 149 
 
 Punctuality 152 
 
 Repose , 157 
 
 Rhymers 161 
 
 Solicitude 170 
 
 Son praised 171 
 
 Time .181 
 
 Warrior .................. 186 
 
 Henry IV. Part II. 
 
 Contention . . . 25 
 
 Distraction 39 
 
 Fickleness of the Vulgar 56 
 
 Fortune 63 
 
 Gold 66 
 
 Henry V. described 72 
 
 Messenger 113 
 
 Messenger with bad News . . 113 
 
 Old Age 127 
 
 Rumour 163 
 
 Submission to the Laws. .... 175 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 Appearances 7 
 
 Commonwealth of Bees 19 
 
 Consideration 24 
 
 Dying , 43 
 
 England. 45 
 
 English Army 46 
 
 Fleet setting Sail 59 
 
 Good Heart 67 
 
 Henry V. Character 73 
 
 Henry V. Speech .....74 
 
 Invocation 94 
 
 Kingdom , 9? 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Miseries of War .,.114 
 
 Night in a Camp 123 
 
 Peace and War 138 
 
 Self-Love 166 
 
 Warlike Spirit 186 
 
 Henry VL Part I. 
 
 Glory • ••66 
 
 Marriage . • • • • 108 
 
 Henry VL Part II. 
 
 Affection 2 
 
 Complaint . . , 20 
 
 1 Conscience • • • . 23 
 
 Gratitude 68 
 
 Greatness • • . 68 
 
 Guilty Countenance • .71 
 
 Hatred 71 
 
 Life 98 
 
 Murder 119 
 
 Night 123 
 
 Parting 134 
 
 Pride..., 148 
 
 Henry I . Part III. 
 
 Ambition 4 
 
 Deformity r . .32 
 
 Dissimulation 38 
 
 Lenity 98 
 
 Mob 115 
 
 Morning 1 17 
 
 Omens 127 
 
 Oration 129 
 
 Royalty 163 
 
 Shepherd's Life . . 167 
 
 Valour 184 
 
 Henry VIIL 
 
 Allegiance .3 
 
 Ambition 3 
 
 Anger ..4,5 
 
 Applause 7 
 
 Blessing 13 
 
 Coujugal Fidelity 22 
 
 Content 25 
 
 Good Wife 67 
 
 Grief 69 
 
 Horror 77 
 
 Ingratitude 89 
 
 Inhumanity ••••••••••••••••90 
 
 387 
 
 Page 
 
 Lenity 97 
 
 Malice 106 
 
 Meekness .110 
 
 New Customs 121 
 
 Obedience 128 
 
 Prediction 143 
 
 Recommendation 154 
 
 Resolution 159 
 
 Wolsey's Character 189 
 
 King John. 
 
 Conscience struggling 24 
 
 Courage 26 
 
 Danger 28 
 
 Death 30 
 
 Departing Diseases 33 
 
 Despair 34 
 
 Despondence • . . .35 
 
 England 44 
 
 English Army 46 
 
 Female Perfection 55 
 
 Fondness of a Mother 60 
 
 Grief 70 
 
 Grief, Marks of .71 
 
 Horrors of Murder 77 
 
 Hypocrisy 79 
 
 Murderer's Look .....119 
 
 News-Tellers .121 
 
 Raving of a Mother 153 
 
 Remorse 156 
 
 Resolution 159 
 
 Self-interest 166 
 
 Servility 1 67 
 
 Sorrow 172 
 
 Superfluity 178 
 
 Tears 179 
 
 Woman's Fears 189 
 
 Julius Ccetar. 
 
 Ambition 3 
 
 Anger.. 5 
 
 Brutus 14 
 
 Caution •• , .16 
 
 Constancy 24 
 
 Cruelty 28 * 
 
 Danger 28 
 
 Death 30 
 
 Envy 46 
 
 Equality 46 
 
 , Error • .47 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Fear • 54 
 
 Flattery 58 
 
 Justice „95 
 
 Oath 125 
 
 Opportunity 128 
 
 Ostentation 133 
 
 Patriotism 137 
 
 Revenge 16 i 
 
 Sleep 169 
 
 Suicide • •••• 177 
 
 Suspense • 178 
 
 Tempest 179 
 
 Tools in Office 181 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 Affliction 3 
 
 Astrology ridiculed 8 
 
 Authority 9 
 
 Bastardy 10 
 
 Bedlam Beggars. \3 
 
 Bluntness 14 
 
 Compassion • 19 
 
 Dover Cliff 40 
 
 Execration 48 
 
 Flattery 58 
 
 Ingratitude 90 
 
 Justice 96 
 
 Madness 105 
 
 Mortality 118 
 
 Necessaries of Life 121 
 
 Providence • • . • • 151 
 
 Resentment • 158 
 
 Rising Passion .......... . .162 
 
 Sickness • 168 
 
 Sorrow 173 
 
 Tempest 180 
 
 Wilfulness 186 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 Beauty 12 
 
 Conceited Man 21 
 
 Merry Man 112 
 
 Power of Love 145 
 
 Spring 173 
 
 Study; 175 
 
 Vanity of Pleasures 184 
 
 Winter 188 
 
 Women's Eyes 191 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Page 
 
 Death ...30 
 
 Deception 32 
 
 Desperation 34 
 
 Despondence 35 
 
 Diseases of the Mind 37 
 
 Fortitude 62 
 
 Hypocrisy * 79 
 
 Intemperance 93 
 
 Invocation ...94 
 
 MacbenYs Character 105 
 
 Martlet 109 
 
 Mortality 118 
 
 Night 122 
 
 Perturbation of Mind.. 140, 141 
 
 Sorrow ...173 
 
 Stormy Night 17* 
 
 Temptation 180 
 
 Tyrannical Government . . . .183 
 
 Witches 188 
 
 Witches' Power 189 
 
 Wonder 192 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Authority 9 
 
 Bawd .12 
 
 Calumny 15 
 
 Chastity 17 
 
 Hypocrisy 79 
 
 Indulgence 88 
 
 Integrity 92 
 
 Justice 95 
 
 Law 97 
 
 Madness 105 
 
 Magistrate 106 
 
 Mercy Ill 
 
 Music 120 
 
 Obsolete Laws 126 
 
 Popular Applause 1 43 
 
 Prayers •• 146 
 
 Precise Man 147 
 
 Punishment 152 
 
 Remorse •••••• 156 
 
 Servility .167 
 
 Temptation 186 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Apprehension .8 
 
 Caution ........ *• ••••••... 15 
 
 S88 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Chance «... 16 
 
 Cheerfulness 17 
 
 Confusion of Mind 21 
 
 Deception ................ 31 
 
 Doubt 40 
 
 Expostulation 50 
 
 Fortune 62 
 
 Fruition 64 
 
 Good Deeds 67 
 
 Gravity 68 
 
 Honour 75 
 
 Hypocrisy 79 
 
 Jew's Revenge 84, 85 
 
 Loquacity 98 
 
 Love, Messenger of 102 
 
 Mediocrity 109 
 
 Mercy ill 
 
 Mirth and Melancholy 1 13 
 
 Moonlight 116 
 
 Music 120, 121 
 
 Parting of Friends 135 
 
 Portia's Picture 145 
 
 Precedent 147 
 
 Quibbling 152 
 
 Rancour 152 
 
 Respect of the World 161 
 
 Seasons 165 
 
 Self-Abasement 165 
 
 Speculation and Practice ... 173 
 
 Suitors 177 
 
 Value of the World ........ 184 
 
 Woman in Man's Apparel . . 190 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Crosses in Love 28 
 
 Embarrassment 43 
 
 Fairies' Employment 51 
 
 Fairies' Jealousy 52 
 
 Female Friendship 55 
 
 Flowery Bonk 59 
 
 Hounds 78 
 
 Imagination 85 
 
 Impatience 85 
 
 Love 98 
 
 Lover's Vow 104 
 
 Mermaid 112 
 
 Morning 117 
 
 Night 122 
 
 Nun 124 
 
 389 
 
 Page 
 
 Obedience . . •••••••• 126 
 
 Robin Goodfellow 162 
 
 Seduction • 165 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing, 
 
 Bachelor's Resolution 11 
 
 Recantation li 
 
 Braggarts. 14 
 
 Counsel 26 
 
 Day-break. 29 
 
 Dissimulation • 38 
 
 Father's Lamentation 53 
 
 Favourites • 54 
 
 Implacability '. 874-fciendship in Love 63 
 
 Grief 69 
 
 Innocence 91 
 
 Love inspired by Peace ....101 
 
 Modest Merit 116 
 
 Regret ...154 
 
 Resolution 159 
 
 Scornful and Satirical Beauty 164 
 Stoicism ...174 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Constancy • • 25 
 
 Drunkenness 42 
 
 Grief 71 
 
 Honesty dispraised 74 
 
 Jealousy 82, 83, 84 
 
 Love 100 
 
 Marriage 109 
 
 Meeting of Lovers 1 10 
 
 Othello's Oration 130, 131 
 
 Patience 136 
 
 Preferment 148 
 
 Reputation 158 
 
 Revenge 161 
 
 Time 181 
 
 Wire 186 
 
 Will 187 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 Banishment. . • 10 
 
 Cowardice 27 
 
 Dying Injunctions 43 
 
 England 44, 45 
 
 Grief 70 
 
 Hope 76 
 
 Kings 96 
 
 Melancholy Stories ill 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Popularity • • • 144 
 
 Prognostics of War 150 
 
 Reputation 158 
 
 Sun-rising 177 
 
 Thought ineffectual 181 
 
 Vanity of Power .......... 184 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 Caution 15 
 
 Complaint 20 
 
 Confidence 21 
 
 Conscience 23, 24 
 
 Contemplation 25 
 
 Day-Break 29 
 
 Deceit 31 
 
 Deformity 33 
 
 Delay 33 
 
 Despair 34 
 
 Discontent .. ,..37 
 
 Evening 48 
 
 Execration 48 
 
 Flattery 59 
 
 High Birth 74 
 
 Hope 77 
 
 Hypocrisy ...79 
 
 Invective 93 
 
 Nobility 124 
 
 Patronage 137 
 
 Peace 137 
 
 Prayer 146 
 
 Richard III. Character 162 
 
 Royalty 163 
 
 Sorrow 172 
 
 Submission 175 
 
 Tale 179 
 
 Words 192 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Apothecary .5 
 
 Beauty 13 
 
 Dreams • . 40 
 
 Impatience 87 
 
 Love 101 
 
 Lover 103 
 
 Lover's Herald 1 03 
 
 Moderation in Love 115 
 
 Morning 117 
 
 Philosophy 141 
 
 Poverty 145 
 
 Resolution 160 
 
 390 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Page 
 
 Appearances 7 
 
 Hounds 78 
 
 Painting. 133 
 
 Scolding 164 
 
 Wife's Duty 187 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 Beauty 12 
 
 Charm dissolved 17 
 
 Compassion • • . 19 
 
 Conscience .23 
 
 Despondence . • . • 35 
 
 Doomsday. . . . .39 
 
 Drunkards. * 42 
 
 Fairies, Address to 51 
 
 Ideal Government 80 
 
 Incredulity 88 
 
 Innocence • . 90 
 
 Misery 114 
 
 Monster. .116 
 
 Music , 120 
 
 Reproach 157 
 
 Sleep .. 169 
 
 Storm 174 
 
 Swimming • • 178 
 
 Sympathy 179 
 
 Torment 182 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Benevolence ....13 
 
 Ceremony 16 
 
 Duelling 42 
 
 Execration 49, 50 
 
 Fidelity 57 
 
 Ingratitude 89, 90 
 
 Law 97 
 
 Painting 134 
 
 Picture 142 
 
 Politics 143 
 
 Promises 150 
 
 Thievery 180 
 
 Want 185 
 
 Wrong* 193 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Invitation to Love 94 
 
 Mercy 112 
 
 Revenge 161 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Tears 179 
 
 Vale described 183 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, 
 
 Doubt 40 
 
 Exultation . . • 51 
 
 Fortitude 62 
 
 Greatness 68 
 
 Grecian Youths * 69 
 
 Hector fighting 72 
 
 Honour 76 
 
 Love 100 
 
 Man 106 
 
 Omission . • 128 
 
 Order 132 
 
 Parting of Lovers 135 
 
 Perse verence 139 
 
 Pity 142 
 
 Pleasure and Revenge 143 
 
 Pride 149 
 
 Protestation of Love 151 
 
 Resolution ..,.160 
 
 Respect 161 
 
 Troilus's Character 182 
 
 Value 184 
 
 Vows 185 
 
 AVautonness 185 
 
 Women 190 
 
 Twelfth Night 
 
 Beautiful Boy 12 
 
 Beauty 12 
 
 Concealed Love 21 
 
 Disguise « • • .37 
 
 Inconstancy 87 
 
 Love in Women 102 
 
 Love unsought 103 
 
 Music 121 
 
 Natural Affection 121 
 
 Old Song 127 
 
 Resolved Love 159 
 
 True Love... 183 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Page 
 
 Courtship 27 
 
 Hope 76 
 
 Inconstancy 87 
 
 Love 99 
 
 Marks of a Lover 108 
 
 Mistress 114 
 
 Modesty 116 
 
 Parting of Lovers 135 
 
 Patience 136 
 
 Perseverence in Love ...... 139 
 
 Separation 166 
 
 Solitude ...171 
 
 Stream 175 
 
 Travelling 182 
 
 Youth 193 
 
 The Winter's Tale. 
 
 Apparition 6 
 
 Art and Nature 8 
 
 Consent of a Father 24 
 
 Country Lass 26 
 
 Despair 33 
 
 Garlands for Old Men 65 
 
 * for Middle Age ..,.65 
 
 — for Youth 65 
 
 Gifts from a Lover. ,..66 
 
 Jealousy 82 
 
 Impudence 87 
 
 Infant exposed 88 
 
 Innocence 91, 92 
 
 Knowledge hurtful 97 
 
 Lover's Commendation . . . . .103 
 
 Parental Fondness 134 
 
 Prosperity 150 
 
 Protestation 150 
 
 Simplicity 169 
 
 Statue 173 
 
 Storm described by a Clown 174 
 
 True Love 183 
 
 Wonder.. .............. . 8 192 
 
 391 
 
/ 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 INTERESTING SCENES. 
 
 I. 
 
 II.. 
 
 III. 
 
 iv.—: 
 
 V. 
 VI. 
 
 VII 
 
 VIIL— 
 
 IX, 
 X. 
 
 XL— 
 
 XII.—, 
 
 XIII, 
 XIV. 
 
 XV.— 
 
 xvi.—: 
 
 XVII 
 
 XVIII 
 
 ■Tempest act iii. 
 
 Measure fob Measure act iii. 
 
 •As You Like It act ii. 
 
 Macbeth 
 
 King John act iv. 
 
 King Richard II.. A act v. 
 
 •King Henby IV. Part L. . i ac \ \l 
 \act 11. 
 
 King Henby IV. Part IL. . f ac \ ! ii# 
 \act iv. 
 
 -King Henby V.. act iv. 
 
 •King Richabd III act i. 
 
 King Henby VIII i ac \ I" - 
 
 [act iv. 
 
 f act ii. 
 Julius Cesar < act iii. 
 
 [act iv. 
 
 •Timon of Athens act iv. 
 
 ~ fact ii. 
 
 Cymbeline < . ... 
 
 * \act m. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 fact ii. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet J act iii. 
 
 [_act iv. 
 
 act i. 
 
 act ii. 
 i act ii. 
 
 -Hamlet •-•• <adtH. 
 
 act iii. 
 act v. 
 Cacti, 
 
 —Othello < act iii. 
 
 [_act v. 
 
 sc. 1. 
 sc. 1, 
 sc. 7. 
 sc. ]. 
 sc.2. 
 sc. 4. 
 sc, 1. 
 sc. 1.' 
 SC 5. 
 sc.2. 
 5c. 4. 
 sc. 1. 
 sc. 4. 
 sc. 1. 
 sc. 4. 
 sc.2. 
 sc. 2. 
 sc. 1. 
 sc.2. 
 sc.3. 
 sc. 3. 
 sc.2. 
 sc.3. 
 sc.2. 
 sc. 4, 
 sc. 6. 
 sc. 6. 
 sc.2. 
 sc. 3. 
 sc. 3. 
 sc 2. 
 sc. 3. 
 sc. 4. 
 sc. 5. 
 sc. 4. 
 sc. 1. 
 sc.3. 
 sc.3. 
 sc.2. 
 
 LONDON: 
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