nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
but let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
and heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way:
doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
which with usurping steps do trample thee:
yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:
and when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.—
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
this earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
prove arméd soldiers, ere her native king
shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

W. SHAKESPEARE

947

Ma.

TIME

MARMADUKE—OSWALD

IME, since Man first drew breath, has never
moved

with such a weight upon his wings as now;
but they will soon be lightened. Os. Ay, look up—
cast round you your mind's eye and you will learn
Fortitude is the child of Enterprise:

great actions move our admiration, chiefly.
because they carry in themselves an earnest
that we can suffer greatly. Ma. Very true.
Action is transitory-a step, a blow,

the motion of a muscle-this way or that-
'tis done, and in the after vacancy
we wonder at ourselves like men betrayed:
suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,
and shares the nature of infinity.

Ma. Truth—and I feel it. Os. What! if you had bid eternal farewell to unmingled joy

and the light dancing of the thoughtless heart;

it is the toy of fools, and little fit

for such a world as this. The wise abjure

all thoughts whose idle composition lives

in the entire forgetfulness of pain.

-I see I have disturbed you. Ma. By no means. Os. Compassion! pity! pride can do without them;

and what if you should never know them more!

He is a puny soul who, feeling pain,
finds ease because another feels it too.

W. WORDSWORTH

948 LOVEL'S ANSWER TO THE QUESTION WHAT true

O

VALOUR IS

Lov. So help me, Love, and my good sword at need.

of all mankind, the object of it is danger.
A certain mean 'twixt fear and confidence:
no inconsiderate rashness or vain appetite
of false encountering formidable things:
but a true science of distinguishing

what's good or evil. It springs out of reason,
and intends to perfect honesty; the scope
is always honour, and the public good:
it is no valour for a private cause.

L. Beau. No! not for reputation?

Lov. That's man's idol,

set up 'gainst God, the maker of all laws,
who hath commanded us we should not kill;
and yet we say, we must for reputation.
What honest man can either fear his own,
or else will hurt another's reputation?
fear to do base, unworthy things, is valour:
if they be done to us, to suffer them
is valour too. The office of a man
that's truly valiant, is considerable

three ways: the first is in respect of matter,
which still is danger; in respect of form,
wherein he must preserve his dignity;

and in the end, which must be ever lawful.

B. JONSON

949

SIR R. BRAKENBURY-DUKE OF CLARENCE

HAT was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.

Br. WHAT

Cl. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower,
and was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
and, in my company, my brother Gloster:
who from my cabin tempted me to walk

upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England,
and cited up a thousand heavy times,
during the wars of York and Lancaster
that had befall'n us. As we pac'd along
upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board,
into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
what dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
what sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
a thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon:
wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

all scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(as 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems,
that woe'd the slimy bottom of the deep,

and mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Br. Had you such leisure in the hour of death to gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

950 Cl. Methought I had; and often did I strive to yield the ghost: but still the envious flood stopt in my soul, and would not let it forth, to find the empty, vast, and wandering air; but smother'd it within my panting bulk, which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Br. Awaked you not in this sore agony? Cl. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul! I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, with that grim ferryman which poets write of, unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, who cried aloud:-'What scourge for perjury can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' and so he vanished. Then came wandering by a shadow like an angel, with bright hair dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud,— 'Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,— that stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;

951

seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!'
with that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
environ'd me, and howléd in mine ears
such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after,
could not believe but that I was in hell;
such terrible impression made my dream.

W. SHAKESPEARE

A TENDer petitION AND REPLY

ORLANDO-DUKE

Orl. PEAK you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:

had savage

and therefore put I on the countenance

of stern commandment: but whate'er you are,
that in this desert inaccessible,

under the shade of melancholy boughs,

lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;

if ever you have look'd on better days,
if ever sat at any good man's feast;
if ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
and know what 'tis to pity and be pitied;
let gentleness my strong enforcement be:

in the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. Du. True is it that we have seen better days;

and sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd; and therefore sit you down in gentleness, and take upon command what help we have, that to your wanting may be ministered. Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, and give it food. There an old poor man, who after me hath many a weary step limped in pure love; till he be first sufficed,— oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,— I will not touch a bit.

'tis very certain, for this reverend seat
receives me as a pupil; rather gives
ornament to our person, than our person
the least of grace to it. I show'd you next
I am to travail; 'tis a certain truth;
look! by how much the labour of the mind
exceeds the body's, so far am I bound
with pain and industry, beyond the toil
of those that sweat in war: beyond the toil
of any artisan: pale cheeks, and sunk eyes,
a head with watching dizzied, and a hair
turn'd white in youth,—all these at a dear rate
we purchased speedily that tend a state.

I told you I must leave you; 'tis most true:
henceforth the face of a barbarian

and yours shall be all one; henceforth I'll know you
but only by your virtue: brother or father,

in a dishonest suit, shall be to me

as is the branded slave. Justice should have
no kindred, friends nor foes, nor hate nor love;

as free from passion as the gods above.

I was your friend and kindsman, now your judge;
and whilst I hold the scales, a downy feather
shall as soon turn them as a mass of pearl
or diamonds.

so says the bond:-doth it not, noble judge?—
nearest his heart: those are the very words.
Are there balance here, to weigh

Por. It is so.

Shy.

the flesh?

I have them ready.

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,

to stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond?
Por. It is not so express'd; but what of that?
'twere good you do so much for charity.
Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.
Por. Come, merchant, have you anything to say?
Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd.—