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But love, fair looks, and true obedi

ence:

Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her hus

band: And, when she's froward, peevish, sul

len, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving

lord! I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel

And gives to every power a double

power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye: A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is

stopp'd; Love's feeling is more soft and sensible Than are the tender horns of cockled

snails; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus

gross in taste; For valor, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his

hair; And, when love speaks, the voice of

all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony, Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with love's

sighs: O, then his lines would ravage savage

ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility.

for peace;

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and

obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and

smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our

hearts Should well agree with our external

parts?

MIRTHFULNESS.

[From Love's Labour's Lost.] A MERRIER man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal: His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expos

itor) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble in his discourse.

WINTER. (From Love's Labour's Lost.) WHEN icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home i’ the

pail; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-whoo!
Tu-whit; tu-whoo! a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

THE POWER OF LOVE.

(From Love's Labour's Lost.] But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every

power;

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drown the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marion's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

SERENADE TO SYLVIA. [From The Two Gentlemen of Verona.] Who is Sylvia ? what is she,

That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admiréd be.

This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery foods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribb’d ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence about
The pendent world; or to be worse than

worst Of those, that lawless and incertain

thoughts Imagine howling! - 'tis too horrible! The weariest and most loathed worldly

life That age, ache, penury, and imprison.

ment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness; Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Sylvia let us sing,

That Sylvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring.

SLANDER.

THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY.

[From Measure for Measure.] Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er

be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer, Would use his heaven for thunder,

nothing but thunder Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sul

phurous bolt, Splitt'st the unwedgeable and gnarled

oak, Than the soft myrtle : 0, but man, proud

man ! Drest in a little brief authority Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence,

- like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high

heaven, As make the angels weep.

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THE FEAR OF DEATH.

[From Measure for Measure.] Ay, but to die, and go we know not

where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

means

OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS

And sold to slavery; of my redemption COURTSHIP OF DESDEMONA.

thence,

And portance in my travel's history: (From Othello.]

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Most potent, grave, and reverend sig- Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose niors,

heads touch heaven, My very noble and approved good It was my hint to speak;- such was the masters,

process; That I have ta'en away this old man's And of the cannibals that each other eat, daughter,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose It is most true; true, I have married her; heads The very head and front of my offending Do grow beneath their shoulders. This Hath this extent, no inore.

Rude am I to hear, in my speech,

Would Desdemona seriously incline: And little bless'd with the set phrase of But still the house affairs would draw peace;

her thence; For since these arms of mine had seven Which ever as she could with haste years' pith,

despatch, Till now some nine moons wasted, they | She'd come again, and with a greedy ear have used

Devour up my discourse: which I obTheir dearest action in the tented field; serving, And little of this great world can I speak, Took once a pliant hour, and found good More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;

To draw from her a prayer of earnest And therefore little shall I grace my heart, cause,

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, In speaking for myself. Yet, by your Whereof by parcels she had something gracious patience,

heard, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver But not intentively. I did consent; Of my whole course of love; what drugs, And often did beguile her of her tears, what charms,

When I did speak of some distressful What conjuration, and what mighty stroke, magic

That my youth suffer'd. My story being (For such proceeding I am charged done, withal),

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: I won his daughter with.

She swore — In faith, 'twas strange,

'twas passing strange; Her father loved me; oft invited me; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : Still questioned me the story of my life, She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she From year to year; the battles, sieges, wish'd fortunes,

That Heaven had made her such a man : That I have pass'd.

she thank'd me; I ran it through, even from my boyish And bade me, if I had a friend that loved days,

her, To the very moment that he bade me I should but teach him how to tell my tell it.

story, Wherein I spake of most disastrous And that would woo her. Upon this chances,

hint, I spake: Of moving accidents by flood, and field; She loved me for the dangers I had Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent pass’d; deadly breach;

And I loved her, that she did pity them. Of being taken by the insolent foe, This only is the witchcraft I have used.

wars

shrill trump,

OTHELLO'S DESPAIR.

THE GARDEN SCENE.
O Now, for ever

(From Romeo and Juliet.] Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell Romeo. He jests at scars that never content!

felt a wound. Farewell the plumed troop, and the big But, soft! what light through yonder

window breaks! That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Farewell the neighing steed, and the Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing That thou her maid art far more fair fife,

than she : The royal banner; and all quality, Be not her maid, since she is envious : Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glo. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, rious war!

And none but fools do wear it; cast it And O you mortal engines, whose rude off. throats

It is my lady; 0, it is my love: The immortal Jove's dread clamors coun- O, that she knew she were! terfeit,

She speaks, yet she says nothing; what Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone! of that?

Her eye discourses, I will answer it. -
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks :

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
OTHELLO'S DYING SPEECH. Having some business, do entreat her
Sort you; a word or two before you go. eyes
I have done the state some service, and

To twinkle in their spheres till they rethey know it;

turn. No more of that. I pray you, in your

What if her eyes were there, they in her letters,

head: When you shall these unlucky deeds

The brightness of her cheek would relate,

shame those stars, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in Nor set down aught in malice: then

heaven must you speak

Would through the airy region stream Of one that loved not wisely, but too well:

so bright, Of one not easily jealous, but, being That birds would sing, and think it were wrought,

not night. Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand,

hand! Like the base Judean, threw a pearl o, that I were a glove upon that hand, away,

That I might touch that cheek ! Richer than all his tribe; of one whose

subdu'd eyes,

Albeit unus'd to the melting mood,

WHAT'S IN A NAME?
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down

[From Romeo and Juliet.)
this:

'Tis but thy name that is mine enemy; And say besides, - that in Aleppo once, Thou art thyself, though not a MontaWhere a malignant and a turban'd Turk gue. Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor I took by the throat the circumcised dog, foot, And smote him — thus. [Stabs himself. | Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

rose

as

it so,

name:

Belonging to a man. O, be some other 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's name!

brow, What's in a name? that which we call a Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do

beat By any other name would smell The vaulty heaven so high above our sweet:

heads : So Romeo would, were he not Romeo I have more care to stay than will to callid,

go; Retain that dear perfection which he Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills

owes, Without that title: Romeo, doff thy How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not

day. And for that name, which is no part of Juliet. It is, it is, hie hence, be thee,

gone, away; Take all myself.

It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleas-

ing sharps.

Some say, the lark makes sweet division; RELUCTANCE TO PART. This doth not so, for she divideth us:

Some say, the lark and loathed toad [From Romeo and Juliet.)

change eyes; Juliet. Wilt thou be gone? It is O, now I would they had chang'd voices not yet near day.

too! It was the nightingale, and not the lark, Since arm from arm that voice doth us That pierced the fearful hollow of thine affray, ear;

Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate

the day. tree:

O, now be gone; more light and light Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

it grows. Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of

the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envi- PERFECTION NEEDS NO ous streaks

ADDITION. Do lace the severing clouds in yonder

[From King John.] east; Night's candles are burnt out, and jo- To throw a perfume on the violet,

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, cund day

To smooth the ice, or add another hue Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain

Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light tops:

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

garnish, Juliet. Yon light is not daylight, I

Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;

THE CURSES OF ROYALTY. Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to

[From King John. ) Romeo. Let me be ta’en, let me be It is the curse of kings to be attended put to death :

By slaves that take their humors for a I am content, so thou wilt have it so.

warrant I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's | To break within the bloody house of eye,

life;

be gone.

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