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III.

THE SATYR.

Till when, humbly leave I take,
Lest the great Pan do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad beech's shade.
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery sun.

II.

THE RIVER GOD TO AMORET.

Thou divinest, fairest, brightest,
Thou most powerful maid and whitest,
Thou most virtuous and most blessed,
Eyes of stars, and golden tressed
Like Apollo! tell me, sweetest,
What new service now is meetest
For the Satyr? Shall I stray
In the middle air, and stay
The sailing rack, or nimbly take
Hold by the moon, and gently make
Suit to the pale queen of night
For a beam to give thee light?
Shall I dive into the sea
And bring thee coral, making way
Through the rising waves that fall
Like snowy fleeces? Dearest, shall
I catch thee wanton fawns, or flies
Whose woven wings the summer dyes
Of many colors? get thee fruit,
Or steal from heaven old Orpheus' lute?
All these I'll venture for, and more,
To do her service all these woods adore.

I AM this fountain's god. Below
My waters to a river grow,
And 'twixt two banks with osiers set,
That only prosper in the wet,
Through the meadows do they glide,
Wheeling still on every side,
Sometime wirıding round about
To find the evenest channel out.
And if thou wilt go with me,
Leaving mortal company,
In the cool streanis shalt thou lie,
Free from harm as well as I;
I will give thee for thy food
No fish that useth in the mud,
But trout and pike, that love to swim
Where the gravel from the brim
Through the pure streams may be seen;
Orient pearl fit for a queen
Will I give, thy love to win,
And a shell to keep them in;
Not a fish in all my brook
That shall disobey thy look,
But, when thou wilt, come gliding by
And from thy white hand take a fly:
And to make thee understand
How I can my waves command,
They shall bubble whilst I sing,
Sweeter than the silver string.

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[By Fletcher.] HENCE, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly ! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't,

But only melancholy;

O sweetest melancholy! Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain'd up without a sound ! Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves ! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly hous'd save bats and owls ! A midnight bell, a parting groan, These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy

valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely

melancholy.

The Song.

Do not fear to put thy feet
Naked in the river sweet;
Think not leach or newt or toad
Will bite thy foot, when thou hast

trod;
Nor let the water rising high,
As thou wad'st in, make thee cry
And sob; but ever live with me,
And not a wave shall trouble thee!

FROM "THE QUEEN OF COR

INTH."

(By Fletcher.]
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan;
Sorrow calls no time that's gone;
Violets plucked the sweetest rain

Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see;
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. .

1564-1616. (William SHAKESPEARE was born at Stratford on Avon, in April, 1564; there also he died, April 23d (old style), 1616. The following are the titles of his poems, with the dates of publication: Venus and Adonis, 1593; The Rape of Lucrece, 1594; The Passionate Pilgrim (a miscellany which includes only a few pieces by Shakespeare), 1599; The Phenix and the Turtle, (printed with pieces on the same subject by other poets of the time, at the end of Robert Chester's Love's Martyr, or Rosalin's Complaint), 1601; Sonnets, 1609; A Lover's Complaint (in the same volume with the Sonnets), 1609.]

man.

ADVICE OF POLONIUS TO HIS Neither a borrower nor a lender be:

SON, ON SETTING FORTH ON For loan oft loses both itself and friend; HIS TRAVELS.

And borrowing dulls the edge of hus

bandry. [From Hamlet.]

This above all — to thine own self be Give thy thoughts no tongue, true; Nor any unproportioned thought his act, And it must follow, as the night the day, Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Thou can'st not then be false to any The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Farewell; my blessing season this in Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of thee.

steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON LIFE Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd com

AND DEATH. rade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, To be, or not to be, — that is the quesBear it, that the opposer may beware of

tion:thee.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer Give every man thine ear, but few thy The slings and arrows of outrageous voice :

fortune; Take each man's censure, but reserve Or to take arms against a sea of thy judgment.

troubles, Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, And, by opposing, end them?- To But not express'd in fancy; rich not die, --- to sleep, gaudy;

No more; — and, by a sleep, to say we For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

end And they in France, of the best rank The heart-ache, and the thousand natuand station,

ral shocks Are most select and generous, chief in That flesh is heir to, - 'tis a consumthat.

mation

me :

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; – to Thou coni'st in such a questionable sleep;

shape, To sleep! perchance to dream; —ay, That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee there's the rub!

Hamlet, For in that sleep of death what dreams King, father, royal Dane: O, answer

may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell coil,

Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in Must give us pause; there's the respect death, That makes calamity of so long life: Have burst their cerements! why the For who would bear the whips and sepulchre, scorns of time,

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Hath oped his ponderous and marble contumely,

jaws, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's To cast thee up again! What may this delay,

mean, The insolence of office, and the spurns That thou, dead corse, again, in comThat patient merit of the unworthy takes, plete steel, When he himself might his quietus make Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, With a bare bodkin? who would fardels Making night hideous; and we fools of bear,

nature, To grunt and sweat under a weary life; So horribly to shake our disposition, But that the dread of something after With thoughts beyond the reaches of death,

our souls? The undiscovered country, from whose

bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will; HAMLET'S ESTEEM FOR And makes us rather bear those ills we

HORATIO. have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Nay, do not think I flatter: Thus conscience does make cowards of For what advancement may I hope from us all;

thee, And thus the native hue of resolution That no revenue hast but thy good Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of spirits thought;

To feed and clothe thee? Why should And enterprises of great pith and mo- the poor be flattered? ment,

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd With this regard, their currents turn a-wry, pomp; And lose the name of action.

And crook the pregnant hinges of the

knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost

thou hear? HAMLET'S ADDRESS TO HIS

Since my dear soul was mistress of her FATHER'S GHOST.

choice,

And could of men distinguish her elecANGELS and ministers of grace defend tion, us!

She hath seal'd thee for herself; for Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin thou hast been damn'd,

As one, in suffering all, that suffers noBring with thee airs from heaven, or thing; blasts from hell,

A man that fortune's buffets and reBe thy intents wicked or charitable,

wards

Leave not a rack behind. We are such

stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Hath ta’en with equal thanks: and

bless'd are those Whose blood and judgment are so well

co-mingled, That they are not a pipe for Fortune's

finger To sound what stop she please : Give

me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will

wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of

hearts, As I do thee.

LIFE.

[From Macbeth.] TO-MORROW, and to-morrow, and to

morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief

candle ! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor

player, That struts and frets his hour upon the

stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

A LOVER'S LAMENT.

[From Twelfth Night.] COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

O, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown;

Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall

be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, 0, where
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave

To weep there.

HUMAN NATURE.
[From The Tempest.]

THESE our actors,
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; Yes, all which it inherit shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant

faded,

THE VISIONARY DAGGER.

[From Macbeth.] Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come,

let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed

brain? I see them yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was

going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the

other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee

still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of

blood, Which was not so before. There's no

such thing: It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes.

How shall your houseless heads, and

unfed sides, Your looped and windowed raggedness,

defend you

REMORSE.

[From Macbeth.]

WHENCE is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise

appals me? What hands are here? Ha! they pluck

out mine eyes ! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash

this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand

will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.

From seasons such as these? O! I have

ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic,

pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches

feel;
That thou mayest shake the superflux to

them,
And show the heavens more just.

EDGAR'S DEFIANCE OF ED

CLEOPATRA ON THE CYDNUS. MUND.

[From Antony and Cleopatra.] [From King Lear.]

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd Draw thy sword;

throne, That if my speech offend a noble heart,

Burn'd on the water: the poop was Thy arm may do thee justice: here is

beaten gold; mine. Behold, it is the privilege of mine honors,

Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that

The winds were love-sick with them : My oath, and my profession: I protest,

the oars were silver; Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, eminence,

and made Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune,

The water which they beat to follow

faster, Thy valor, and thy heart, - thou art a

As amorous of their strokes. For her traitor :

own person, False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;

It beggar'd all description; she did lie Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious

In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue), prince;

O'er picturing that Venus, where we see, And from the extremest upward of thy

The fancy outwork nature: on each

side her, head, To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,

Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling

Cupids, A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou,

With divers-color'd fans, whose wind “No,"

did seem This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, To glow the delicate cheeks which they

did cool, To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,

And what they undid, did. Thou liest.

are bent

THE STORM.

[From King Lear.] Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you

are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless

Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' the

eyes,
And made their bends adornings; at

the helm A seeming mermaid steers : the silken

storm,

tackle

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