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"THE TEMPEST," Act V, Scene 1. Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
After summer merrily : In a cowslip's bell I lie :
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, There I couch when owls do cry,
Under the blossom that hangs on the On the bat's back I do fly
“ A MIDSUMMER Night's DREAM,” Act II, Scene 2.
Obe. My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou re
member'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. Puck.
I remember. Obe. That very time I saw (but thou couldst
not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed ; a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his
bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery
moon; And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : It fell upon a little western flower,Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's
wound : And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee
Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes.
FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.
“ HENRY VIII,” Act III, Scene 2. Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII, thus soliloquizes, and afterward confers with his servant Cromwell: Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome. greatness !
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth Wol. That's news indeed. The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; This day was view'd in open, as his queen, And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely Going to chapel ; and the voice is now His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root, Only about her coronation. And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
down. O Cromwell, This many summers in a sea of glory;
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride In that one woman I have lost forever : At length broke under me; and now has left me, No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Or gild again the noble troops that waited Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, CromVain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;
well ; I feel my heart new open'd: 0, how wretched I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sun I pray may never set ! I have told him That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, What, and how true thou art; he will advance More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
thee; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Some little memory of me will stir him,
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety. Why, how now, Cromwell?
O my lord, Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego Wol. What, amazed at my misfortunes; can thy So good, so noble, and so true a master ? spirit wonder
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. I am fallen indeed.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers Crom. How does your grace?
Forever, and forever, shall be yours. Wol. Why, well;
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, I know myself now; and I feel within me
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. A peace above all earthly dignities,
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured Cromwell ; me,
And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoul- And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention ders,
Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honor : Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory, O'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; Crom. I am glad your grace has made that A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. right use of it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel),
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, Tɔ endure more miseries, and greater far,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Than my weak-hearted enemie dare offer.
Love thyself last : cherish ose hearts that hate What news abroad?
TOUCHSTONE AND AUDREY.
“As You Like It," Act III, Scene 3. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey ? am child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead I the man yet? doth my simple feature content than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I
would the gods had made thee poetical. Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us! what Aud. I do not know what “poetical” is; is it features ?
honest in deed and word ? is it a true thing? Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, the Goths.
and what they swear in poetry may be said as When a man's verses can not be understood, 'lovers they do feign.
THE SEVEN AGES.
“ As You LIKE IT,” Act II, Scene 7. The banished duke, with Jaques and other lords, are in the forest of Arden, sitting at their plain repast. Orlando, who has been wandering in the forest in quest of food for an old servant, Adam, who can “go no further,” suddenly comes upon the party, and with his sword drawn, exclaims: Orlando. Forbear, I say ;
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,He dies that touches any of this fruit
I will not touch a bit. Till I and my affairs are answer'd.
Duke Sen. Go find him out, Jaques. An you will not
And we will nothing waste till your return. Be answer'd with reason, I must die.
Orla. I thank ye: and be bless'd for your good Duke Sen. What would you have?
comfort. [Exit.] tleness shall force,
Duke Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone More than your force move us to gentleness.
unhappy : Orla. I almost die for food, and let me have it. This wide and universal theater Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in. Orla. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray Jaq. All the world's a stage, you;
And all the men and women merely players : I thought that all things had been savage here; They have their exits and their entrances ; And therefore put I on the countenance
And one man in his time plays many parts, Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, That in this desert inaccessible,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; And shining morning-face, creeping like snail If ever you have look'd on better days;
Unwillingly to school : And then the lover; If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad If ever sat at any good man's feast;
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier; If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the.pard, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied; Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: Seeking the bubble reputation In the which hope, I blush, and hide my
sword. Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice; Duke Sen. True it is that we have seen better In fair round belly, with good capon lined, days;
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church ; Full of wise saws and modern instances, And sat at good men's feasts; and wiped our eyes And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side : And take upon command what help we have His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide That to your wanting may be minister'd.
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all, And give it food. There is an old poor man, That ends this strange eventful history, Who after me hath many a weary step
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : Limp'd in pure love; till he be first sufficed, - Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
“ HAMLET,” Act IV, Scene 7. HERE is a willow grows aslant a brook, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy wide; stream;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; There with fantastic garlands did she come Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples As one incapable of her own distress, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
Or like a creature native and indued But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them; Unto that element; but long it could not be There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay When down her weedy trophies and herself To muddy death.
MACBETH'S IRRESOLUTION BEFORE THE MURDER OF DUNCAN.
“ MACBETH,” Act I, Scene 7. Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then Who should against his murtherer shut the door, 'twere well
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan It were done quickly: If the assassination
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, So clear in his great office, that his virtues With his surcease, success; that but this blow Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against Might be the be-all and the end-all, here,
The deep damnation of his taking-off: But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, And pity, like a naked new-born babe, We'd jump the life to come.—But in these cases, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed We still have judgment here; that we but teach Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice That tears shall drown the wind.—I have no Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
spur To our own lips. He's here in double trust : To prick the sides of my intent, but only First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, Strong both against the deed: then, as his host, And falls on the other.