Heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise !
Second Part of King Henry VI., Act iv. Sc. 9, l. 13.
God's goodness hath been great to thee;
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
But still remember what the Lord hath done.
Second Part of King Henry VI., Act ii. Sc. 1, 1. 85.
O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,
O, not to day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I 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
Toward 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,
King Henry V., Act iv. Sc. 1, 1. 306.
We have now no thought in us but France,
Save those to God, that run before our business.
King Henry V., Act i. Sc. 2, l. 302.
My ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
The Tempest, EPILOGUE, 1. 15.
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.
Romeo and Juliet, Act iv. Sc. 3, l. 1.
It is religion that doth make vows kept.
King John, Act iii. Sc. 1, 1. 279.
The mightiest and the wisest in their minds
Thou may'st see like to him who standeth here,
Giving good counsel to a man distressed;
But when God's will shall send the scourge on one
Who lived till then as fortune's favorite,
All his fine phrases vanish utterly.
SOPHOCLES, Fragments, 1. 14.
Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
I 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 loved 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 strain 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,
Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man: for, brother, 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 in 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.
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
Leon. I pray thee, peace.
will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.
Much Ado about Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1, l. 1.
Constance [mother of Arthur, after hearing of a peace on terms which would destroy all hope of her son's securing
the crown]. Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?
False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces ?
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again :
It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so:
I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man :
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick and capable of fears,
Oppress'd 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,
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
What 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?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
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