A man in all the world's new fashion planted, disa hak That hath a mint of phrafes in his brain;enston 70 One, whom the mufic of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish, like inchanting harmony;
A man of compliments, whom right and wrong
Have chofe as umpire of their mutiny.dogabb
Love's Labour Loft, A. 1. Sc.
CONFUSION O F MIND.
You have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
And there is fuch confufion in my pow'rs,
As, after fome oration fairly fpoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleafed multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, fave of joy
Expreft and not expreft.
The Merchant of Venice, A. 3. Sc. z.
CONJUROR.
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-ey'd, fharp-looking wretch, ph
A diving dead man. This pernicious flave,
Forfooth, took on him as a conjuror; buona enedi al
And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulfe,
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
Cries out I was poffeft.
The Comedy of Errors, A. 5.
O, it is monstrous! monftrous!as
Methought the billows fpoke, and told me of it;
The winds did fing it to me; and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
The name of Profper: it did bafe my trefpafs.
Therefore my fon i'th'ooze is bedded.
The Tempest, A. 3. Sc. 3.
What ftronger breaft-plate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just ;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose confcience with injuftice is corrupted.
Henry VI. Part II. A. 3.
-Confcience! I'll not meddle with it. dangerous thing; it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; á man cannot fwear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him.-'Tis a blushing fhame-faced fpirit, that mutinies in a man's bofom; it fills one full of obftacles; it made me once restore a purfe of gold that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps it; it is turn'd out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it.
Richard III. A. 1. Sc. 4.
Give me another horfe! bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, fefu! Soft; I did but dream.
O coward Confcience! how doft thou afflict me?
The light burns blue-Is it not dead midnight?
Cold, fearful drops ftand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myfelf-there's none else by:
Richard-loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No.-Yes, I am :
Then fly-what! from myfelf?-Great reafon-Why?
Left I revenge-What? Myfelf on myself?
I love myself Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O! no.-Alas! I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain.-Yet, I lie; I am not:
Fool, of thyfelf fpeak well.-Fool, do not flatter.
My confcience hath a thousand feveral tongues,
And every tongue brings in a feveral tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain!
Perjury-perjury, in the higheft degree-
Murder-ftern murder, in the direft degree-
All feveral fins-all used in each degree-
Throng to the bar, crying all,-Guilty! guilty!
I fhall defpair. There is no creature loves me;
And, if I die, no foul fhall pity me.
Nay, wherefore fhould they? fince that I myfelf
Find in myself no pity to myfelf.
O, my offence is rank; it fmells to heaven;
It hath the primal, eldeft curfe upon't;
A brother's murder! Pray can I not,.
Though inclination be as fharp as will;
My ftronger guilt defeats my ftrong intent:
And, like a man to double bufinefs bound,.t
I ftand in paufe, where I fhall first begin;
And both neglect. What if this curfed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood wond
Is there not rain enough in the fweet heavens
To wash it white as fnow? Whereto ferves mercy,
But to confront the vifage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be foreftalled, ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; now I
My fault is paft. But, oh! what form of prayerend
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! o.
That cannot be; fince I am still poffefs'da sad s 192
Of thofe effects for which I did the murder: & vad I.
My crown, mine own ambition, and
my queen. woll
May one be pardoned, and retain the offence?.
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may fhove by juftice;.
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself and W
Buys out the law. But 'tis not fo above or boo
There is no fhuffing-there the action lies on von 1
In his true nature; and we ourfelves
compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, odia
To give in evidence. What then?-What refts
Try what repentance can. What can it not Pidgils a
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? Isdr10
O, wretched state! O bofom, black as death baå.
O, limed foul! that, ftruggling to be free,gged o
Art more engaged! Help, angels! make affay o
Bow, ftubborn knees! and heart with ftrings of fteel!
Be foft as finews of the new-born babe19750, 200
All may be well,
Hamlet, A 3. Sc. 3.
CONSCIENCE STRUGGLING.
The colour of the king doth come and go,
Between his purpofe and his confcience,Verme
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles fent:
His paffion is fo ripe it needs must break.
gnovaed or disney King John, A. 4. Sc. 2 CONSENT OF A FATHER.
-Methinks a father
Is, at the nuptial of his fon, a gueft
That beft becomes the table: pray you, , once more, Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? Is he not ftupid
With age and alt'ning rheums? Can he fpeak? hear?
Know man from man? difpute his own estate ?
Lies he not bed-rid? And, again, does nothing,
But what he did being childish ?
I would have thee there, and here again,
Ere I can tell thee what thou should't do there.
O conftancy, be strong upon my fide!
Set a huge mountain tween my heart and tongue f
I have a man's mind, but a woman's might,
How hard it is for women to keep counsel more
Julius Cæfar. A. 2. Sc. 4.
What fhall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven
I know not how I loft him.-Here I kneeler
If e'er my will did trefpafs 'gainst his love,
Either in difcourfe, or thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any fenfe,
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, though he do fhake me off onver
To beggarly divorcement,-love him dearly,
Comfort forfwear me! Unkindnefs may do much ;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot fay-
It does abhor me, now I fpeak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
Othello. A. 4. Sc. 2.
I fwear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistening grief,
And wear a golden forrow.
A goodly day not to keep houfe, with fuch
Whofe roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys, this gate
Inftructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows you
To morning's holy office; the gates of monarchs
Are arch'd fo high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good-morrow to the fun-Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i'the rock, yet ufe thee not fo hardly
As prouder livers' do..
Now for our mountain fport.-Up to yon hill,
Your legs are young; I'll tread thefe flats: confider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which leffens and fets off.
And you may there revolve what tales I have told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This fervice is not fervice; fo being done,
But being fo allowed: to apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often to our comfort fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Richer than doing nothing for a babe;
Prouder than ruftling in unpaid for filk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd:-No life to ours!
Did you but know the cities ufuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o'the court,
As hard to leave as keep; whofe top to climb
Is certain falling, or fo flippery, that
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