Natheless do ye still loud her praises sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, Where virtue reigns as queen in royal throne, The which the base affections do obey, Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing, Open the temple gates unto my love, With trembling steps, and humble reverence, To humble your proud faces : Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may C The praises of the Lord in lively notes; The choristers the joyous anthem sing, That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. Behold while she before the altar stands, That even the angels which continually Forget their service and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, That suffers not one look to glance astray, Which may let in a little thought unsound. Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluia sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Born 1564. Died 1616. SPEECH OF ULYSSES TO ACHILLES. IME hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, TIME Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured 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; That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, O'errun and trampled on : then what they do in present, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, 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. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all, with one consent, praise newborn gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust, that is a little gilt, More laud than gilt o'erdusted. Troilus and Cressida, Act iii. Sc. 3. MERCY. HE quality of mercy is not strained; Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; It is enthroned in the heart of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's Merchant of Venice, Act iv. Sc. 1. MUSIC. Lorenzo. HOW sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night 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 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. Jessica. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, The man that hath no music in himself, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; Let no such man be trusted. Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc. I. |