As water in a seive; 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 wo 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;
Cry-sorrow, wag! and 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 ach 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.
SATIRE ON THE STOIC PHILOSOPHERS.
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.
Hold you content: What man! I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple. Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness.
And speak of half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.
VILLAIN TO BE NOTED.
Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes; That when I note another man like him,
The wolves have preyed: and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray.
THY hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
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.
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 heav'ns artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpet's clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to the ear,
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire.
Should ask-if Katharine should be his wife,
Ay, by gogs-wouns, quoth he; and swore so loud,
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book:
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up,
The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff, That down fell priest and book, and book and priest; Now take them up, quoth he, if any list.
Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again? Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd, and swore,
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine: A health, quoth he, as if
He had been aboard carousing to his mates
After a storm:-Quaff'd off the muscadel,*
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face!
Having no other reason,-
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck;
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack,
That, at the parting, all the church did echo.
THE MIND ALONE VALUABLE.
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peeretht in the meanest habit. What, is the jay more precious than the lark,
It was the custom for the company present to drink wine immediately after the marriage ceremony.
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
THE WIFE'S DUTY TO HER HUSBAND.
Fie, fie! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow;
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor;
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads;
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet, or amiable.
A woman moved, 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 his 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?
AN USURPING SUBSTITUTE COMPARED TO JOY.
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't.
ARIEL'S DESCRIPTION OF MANAGING THE STORM.
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the top-mast, The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join: Jove's lightnings, the precur
O'the dreadful thunder claps, more momentary
And sight-out-running 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.-
But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners, Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-starting (then like reeds, not hair,) Was the first man that leap'd; cried, Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.
PROSPERO REPROVING ARIEL.
Thou dost; and think'st
It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep;
To run upon the sharp wind of the north;
To do me business in the veins o' the earth,
When it is bak'd with frost.
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