Since maids, in modefty, fay No, to that
Which they would have the proff'rer conftrue Ay.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 1. Sc. z.
Let fair eyes and gentle wishes your with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd, there is but one fham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is willing to be fo: I fhall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better fupplied when I have made it empty.
As You Like It, A. 1. Sc. 2.
A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
Humanely taken, all, all loft, quite loft;
And, as with age his body uglier grows,
So his mind cankers.
The Tempeft, A. 4. Sc. 1.
How sweet the moonlight fleeps upon this bank!
Here will we fit, and let the found of mufic
Creep in our ears; foft ftillness, and the night,
Become the touches of fweet harmony.
Sit, Jeffica: look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patterns of bright gold!
There's not the fmalleft orb, which thou behold'ft,
But in his motion like an angel fings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal founds!
But whilft this muddy vefture of decay
The Merchant of Venice, A. 5. Sc. 1.
Doth grofsly clofe us in, we cannot hear it.
Peace! how the moon fleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awaked!
Night's fwift dragons cut the clouds full faft,
And yonder fhines Aurora's harbinger;
At whofe approach, ghofts wand'ring here and there,
Troop home to church-yards; damned fpirits, all
That in crofs-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone:
For fear left day fhould look their fhames upon,
They wilfully exile themfelves from light;"
And muft for aye confort with black-brow'd night,
A Midfummer's Night's Dream, A. 5. Sc.
The grey-eyed morning fmiles on frowning night,
Check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness, like a drunkard, reels
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels.
Romeo and Juliet, A. 2.Sc. 3See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewel of the glorious fun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a yonker prancing to his love!
King Henry VI. Part III. A. 2. Sc. &
This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the fhepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
But look, the morn, in ruffet mantle-clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
She should have dy'd hereafter;
There would have been a time for fuch a word-
To-morrow-and to-morrow-and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last fyllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools.
The way to duty death. Out, out, brief candle!!
Life's but a walking fhadow; a poor player,
That ftruts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of found and fury,
Signifying nothing
Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever he fleeps well::
Treafon has done his worft; nor fteel, nor poifon,
Malice domeftic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further.
Men muft endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
Ripeness is all
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being feven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurfe's arms.
And then the whining school-boy with his fatchel,
And fhining morning face, creeping like fnail
Unwillingly to fchool. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his miftrefs' eye-brow. Then, a foldier;
Full of ftrange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation,
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws and modern inftances;
And fo he plays his part. The fixth age
Into the lean and flipper'd Pantaloon,
With fpectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hofe, well fav'd, a world too wide
For his fhrunk fhank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whiftles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful hiftory,
Is fecond childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.
As You Like It, A. 2. Sc, 5.
See how the blood is fettled in his face!
Oft have I feen a timely parted ghost,
Of afhy femblance, meagre, pale, and bloodlefs;
Being all defeended to the lab'ring heart,
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the fame for aidance 'gainst the enemy:
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But fee, his face is black and full of blood;
His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd;
Staring full-ghaftly, like a ftrangled man:
His hair uprear'd, his noftrils ftretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad difplay'd, as one that grafp'd
And tugg'd for life, and was by ftrength fubdu'd.
Look on the sheets; his hair, you fee, is fticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the fummer's corn by tempeft lodg'd.
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here;
The leaft of all thefe figns were probable.
King Henry VI. Part III. A. 3. Sc. 6.
MURDERER'S LOOK.
The image of a wicked heinous fault.
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his,
Does fhew the mood of a much-troubled breast.
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Where should this mufic be? In air or earth?
It founds no more, and fure it waits upon
Some god of th' ifland. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This mufic crept by me upon the water,
Allaying both their fury and my paffion
With its fweet air.
The Tempeft, A. 1. Sc. 5.
'Tis good; tho' mufic oft hath fuch a charm
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
Meafure for Meafure, A. 4. Sc. 1.
Let mufic found while he doth make his choice;
Then, if he lofe, he makes a fwan-like end,
Fading in mufic. That the comparison
May ftand more juft, my eye shall be the stream
And wat❜ry death-bed for him.
And what is mufic then? Then mufic is
Even as the flourish when true fubjects bow
To a new crowned monarch; fuch it is
As are those dulcet founds in break of day,
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
And fummon him to marriage.
The Merchant of Venice, A. 3. Sc. 2.
I'm never merry when I hear fweet mufic.
The reafon is, your fpirits are attentive;
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud
(Which is the hot condition of their blood) ;-
If they perchance but hear a trumpet found,
Or any air of mufic touch their ears,
You fhall perceive them make a mutual stand;
Their favage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the fweet power of mufic. Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, ftones, and floods;
Since nought fo ftockish, hard, and full of rage,
But mufic for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no mufic in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of fweet founds,
Is fit for treafons, ftratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his fpirits are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no fuch man be trusted.
If mufic be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it; that, furfeiting,
The appetite may ficken, and fo die.
That train again;-it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the fweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour! Twelfth Night, A. 1. Sc. 1.
NATURAL AFFECTION.
O! fhe, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
То pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will fhe love, when the rich golden fhaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections elfe
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,
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