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WOMEN.

Women are angels, wooing.

Things won are done; joy's foul lies in the doing.
That the belov'd knows naught, that knows not this,
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.

Troilus and Creffida, A. 1. Sc. 2.

Women are not

In their beft fortunes ftrong; but want will perjure
The ne'er-touch'd veftal. Ant. and Cleop. A. 3. Sc. 5.

WOMEN'S EYES.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive :
They sparkle ftill the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, th' academies,
That fhew, contain, and nourish all the world;
Elfe none at all in aught proves excellent.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 4. Sc. 4

WOMEN, AN INVECTIVE AGAINST.

Is 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 ftampt. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother feem'd
The Dian of that time; fo doth my wife

The non-pareil of this-Oh vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleafure the reftrain'd,

And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency fo rofy, the fweet view on 't

Might well have warm'd old Saturn-that I thought her
As chafte as unfunn'd fnow. Oh, all the devils!
This yellow Jachimo in an hour-was 't not?-
Or lefs-at firft? Perchance he spoke not, but
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cried, Oh! and mounted; found no oppofition
But what he look'd for fhould oppofe, and the
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 't lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, her's; deceiving, her's;

Luf,

Luft, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, difdain,
Nice longings, flanders, mutability :

All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, her's, in part, or all; but rather all :-For even to vice
They are not conftant, but are changing still

One vice, but of a minute old, for one

Not half fo old as that. I'll 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.

WONDER.

Cymbeline, A. 2. Sc. 7.

There was fpeech in their dumbnefs, language in their gefture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ranfom'd, or one deftroy'd; a notable paffion of wonder appear'd in them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but feeing, could not fay if th' importance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one it must needs be.

The Winter's Tale, A. 5. Sc. 2.

-Can fuch things be,

And overcome us like a fummer's cloud,

Without our special wonder? You make me firange
Even to the difpofition that I owe,

When now I think you can behold fuch fights,

And keep the natural ruby of your cheek,
When mine is blanch'd with fear."

WORDS.

Why fhould calamity be full of words,
Windy attorneys to their clients woes,
Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miferies?

Macbeth, A. 3. Sc. 4.

Let them have fcope. Though what they do impart
Help nothing elfe, yet they do eafe the heart.

King Richard III. A. 4. Sc. 4.

WORLD.

Oh, world, thy flippery turns! Friends now fait fworn,
Whofe double bofoms feem to wear one heart,
Whofe hours, whofe bed, whofe meal and exercise
Are ftill together, who twin as 'twere in love

Unfeparable,

Unfeparable, fhall within this hour,
On a diffention of a doit, break out
To bittereft enmity: So felleft foes,

Whose paffions and whofe plots have broke their sleep,
To take the one the other, by fome chance,

Some trick not worth an egg, fhall grow dear friends, And interjoin their iffues.

WRONG.

Cariolanus, A. 4. Sc. 4.

Now breathlefs Wrong

Shall fit and pant in your great chairs of ease,
And purfy Infolence fhall break his wind

With fear and horrid flight. Timon of Athens, A. 5. Sc. 5.

YOUTH.

From our infancy

We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the fweet benefit of time,

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection;
Yet hath Sir Protheus, for that's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days:
His years are 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.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 2. Sc. 4.
O thou Goddess,

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'ft
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rudeft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him ftoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not feen from other; valour

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been fow'd!

Cymbeline, A. 4. Sc. 2.

A SELECTION

OF THE MOST

INTERESTING SCENES

IN

HAKSPEARE's PLAYS.

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N° I. THE TEMPEST.
ACT III. SCENE I. Before Profpero's Cell.
Enter Ferdinand, bearing a Log.

FERDINAND.

HERE be fome fports are painful, but their labour
Delight in them fets off: fome kinds of baseness

re nobly undergone, and most poor matters
oint to rich ends. This my mean task wou'd be
As heavy to me, as odious: but

The miftrefs, which I ferve, quickens what's dead,
nd makes my labours pleasure: O, the is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove
ome thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
pon a fore injunction. My fweet miftress

Veeps when the fees me work, and fays, fuch baseness
Had ne'er like executor; I forget;

ut thefe fweet thoughts do ev'n refresh my labour, Moft bufy-lefs, when I do it.

Enter Miranda; and Profpero, at a distance unfeen.
Mira. Alas, now, pray you,

Vork not fo hard; I would the lightning had
urnt up thofe logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile:
ray, fet it down and reft you; when this burns,
Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
hard at ftudy; pray now, reft yourself;

He's fafe for thefe three hours.

Fer. O moft dear mistress,

The fun will fet before I fhall difcharge
What I muft ftrive to do.

K

Mira.

Mira. If you'll fit down,

I'll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that;
I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer. No, precious creature,

back,

I'd rather crack my finnews, break my
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I fit lazy by.

Mira. It would become me,

As well as it does you; and I fhould do it
With much more eafe; for my good-will is to it,
And yours it is againft.

Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected;

This vifitation fhews it.

Mira. You look wearily.

Fer. No, noble miftrefs: 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly that I might fet it in my prayers)

What is your name ?

Mira. Miranda. O my father, I've broke your heft to fay fo.

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 beft 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 feveral women, never any
With fo full foul, but fome defect in her
Did quarrel with the nobleft grace she ow'd,
And put it to the foil. But you, O you,
So perfect and fo peerless, are created
Of every creature's beft.

Mira. I do not know

One of my fex; no woman's face remember,
Save from my glass mine own; nor have I feen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father. How features are abroad,
I'm fkill-lefs of; but, by my modefty,
(The jewel in my dower) I would not wifh.
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a fhape,
Befides yourfelf, to like of. But I prattle

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