« PredošláPokračovať »
O thoughts of men accurs’d !
He reads much;
She is peevish, sullen, froward,
Dreams are the children of an idle brain,
If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
Ah me! how sweet is love itself
possest, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
Dreams are toys:
Then came wand'ring by
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
furniture, and mean array. Our purses
shall be proud, our garments poor : For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth in the meanest habit. We will return unto thy father's house, And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and fardingals, and things ; With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. l'II be at charges for a looking-glass; And entertain
a score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body Since I am crept in favour with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost,
Thy gown? why, ay :--Come tailor let us see 't. O mercy, God! what masking stuff is here? What's this ? a sleeve ? 'tis like a demi-cannon :
What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart?
O Lord ! me thought, what pain it was to drown !
the drums : and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest.
Your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder.
They were red hot with drinking ;
I have drugg'd their possets,
And now, in madness, Being full of supper, and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog.
Give me the cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, Now the king drinks to Hamlet. No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder.
Give me a bowl of wine :-
Give me a bowl of wine :
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth