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Till when, humbly leave I take,
THE RIVER GOD TO AMORET.
Thou divinest, fairest, brightest,
I AM this fountain's god. Below
[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
Do not fear to put thy feet
FROM "THE QUEEN OF COR
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
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.]
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
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.
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.
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,
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.
[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;
O, prepare it;
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
Lay me, 0, where
To weep there.
THESE our actors,
palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe
itself; Yes, all which it inherit shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant
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,
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
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.
[From King Lear.] Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you
are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless
Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
the helm A seeming mermaid steers : the silken