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But evil on itself shall back recoil,

and mix no more with goodness, when at last,
gathered like scum, and settled to itself,

it shall be in eternal restless change
self-fed, and self-consumed. If this fail,
the pillared firmament is rottenness,
and earth's base built on stubble.






T is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:
it cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so:
I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
is but the vain breath of a common man;
believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
for I am sick, and capable of fears;

oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
a widow, husbandless, subject to fears:

a woman, naturally born to fears:

and though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, with my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, but they will quake and tremble all this day. What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? why dost thou look so sadly on my son? what means that hand upon that breast of thine? why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? then speak again; not all thy former tale, but this one word, whether thy tale be true. 1040 Arth. I do beseech, you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert grim, ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb, full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, lame, foolish, crookéd, swart, prodigious, patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content; for then I should not love thee; no, nor thou become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.

But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy,
Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:
of Nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast
and with the half-blown rose: but Fortune, O!
she is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
she adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
and with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
to tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
and made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to Fortune, and king John;
that strumpet Fortune, that usurping John:—
tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
and leave those woes alone, which I alone
am bound to under-bear.

1041 K. Phi. The yearly course, that brings this day about, shall never see it but a holiday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day!—

what hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done,
that it in golden letters should be set,

among the high tides in the kalendar? Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, this day of shame, oppression, perjury: or, if it must stand still, let wives with child pray that their burdens may not fall this day, lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd; but on this day let seamen fear no wrack; no bargains break that are not this day made: this day, all things begun come to ill end; yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause to curse the fair proceedings of this day; have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried, proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn; you came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, but now in arms you strengthen it with yours: the grappling vigour and rough frown of war, is cold in amity and painted peace,

and our oppression hath made up this league.— Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! a widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!



let not the hours of this ungodly day
wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
set arméd discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
hear me, O, hear me !




HY voice sends forth such music, that I never was ravished with a more celestial sound. Were every servant in the world like thee, so full of goodness, angels would come down to dwell with us; thy name is Angelo,

and like that name thou art; get thee to rest, thy youth with too much watching is opprest. Ang. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,

and force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
by my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
so blest I hold me in your company.

Therefore, my most lov'd mistress, do not bid
your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
for then you break his heart.

Dor. Be nigh me, still, then;



in golden letters down I'll set that day
which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
to meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
this little, pretty body; when I, coming
forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
my sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy crave an alms,
which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!—
And, when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom,
methought was filled with no hot wanton fire,
but with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
on wings of cherubim, than it did before.




CANNOT praise thy marriage-choices, son, rather approved them not: but thou didst plead divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st find some occasion to infest our foes.

I state not that; this I am sure, our foes
found soon occasion thereby to make thee
their captive and their triumph; thou the sooner
temptation foundest, or over-potent charms,
to violate the sacred trust of silence

deposited within thee; which to have kept
tacit was in thy power: true; and thou bearest
enough, and more, the burden of that fault.
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying,
that rigid score; a worse thing yet remains.―
This day the Philistines a popular feast
here celebrate in Gaza; and proclaim
great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud,

to Dagon, as their god, who hath delivered
thee, Samson, bound and blind into their hands,
them out of thine, who slewest them many a slain:
so Dagon shall be magnified, and God,
besides whom is no god, compared with idols,
disglorified, blasphemed, and had in scorn
by the idolatrous rout amidst their wine;
which to have come to pass by means of thee,
Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest,
of all reproach the most with shame that ever
could have befallen thee and thy father's house.




MPOSTOR, do not charge most innocent Nature as if she would her children should be riotous

with her abundance. She, good cateress,

means her provision only to the good,
that live according to her sober laws,
and holy dictate of spare Temperance.

If every just man, that now pines with want,
had but a moderate and beseeming share
of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury
now heaps upon some few with vast excess,
nature's full blessings would be well dispensed
in unsuperfluous even proportion,

and she no whit encumbered with her store;
and then the giver would be better thanked,
his praise due paid: for swinish Gluttony

F. S. III.


ne'er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast, but with besotted base ingratitude

crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on? or have I said enow? To him that dares

arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
against the sun-clad power of Chastity,

fain would I something say; yet to what end?
Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend
the sublime notion, and high mystery,

that must be uttered to unfold the sage

and serious doctrine of Virginity;

and thou art worthy that thou shouldest not know more happiness than this thy present lot.





Duke. AY, but I know,—

what dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe;


in faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
as it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

And what's her history?

Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
but let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought;
and, with a green and yellow melancholy,
she sat like patience on a monument,

smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more; but, indeed,
our shows are more than will; for still we prove
much in our vows, but little in our love.




VET a few days, and thee


the all-beholding Sun shall see no more in all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

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