What best is boded me, to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you.
To weep at what I am glad of.
Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me! If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.
Mira. And mine, with my heart in't and now fare
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie:
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly,
After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall.
DRUNKARDS ENCHANTED BY ARIEL.
I told you, sir, that they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet: yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music; so I charm'd their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins.
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves, And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid (Weak masters though you be) I have bedimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-based promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have waked their sleepers; oped and let them forth By my so potent art.
If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.- That strain again; it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.
ESCAPE FROM DANGER.
I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the wave, So long as I could see.
For they shall yet belie thy happy years That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is, as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part.
Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me. For such as I am, all true lovers are; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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,
This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard,* check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.
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