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makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, should keep the body of it ever fair.



WHEN clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks ;

When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ?
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth:
All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.
Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear:
You cannot reason almost with a man
That looks not heavily, and full of dread.
Before the days of change, still is it so:
By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust
Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see
The water swell before a boist'rous storm.
But leave it all to God.

K. RICHARD III., A. 2, s. 3.

DIVINITY OF NOBLE SYMPATHY. HE that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop; Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.



ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:

I thought, that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance

Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,


ever you

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever sat at any good man's feast;

If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
DUKE. True it is that we have seen better


And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

ORL. Then, but forbear your food a little while,

Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old

poor man,

Who after me hath many a weary step

Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,— I will not touch a bit.


And we will nothing waste till

Go find him out,

you return.

AS YOU LIKE IT, A. 2, s. 8.


POET. You see this confluence, this great
flood of visitors.

I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.


How shall I understand you ?
I'll unbolt to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds,
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality,) tender down
Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd

To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 1.



He dreamt

To-night the boar had rased off his helm:

Besides, he says, there are two councils held;

And that


be determin'd at the one, Which may make you and him to rue at the


Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,

If, presently, you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north,

To shun the danger that his soul divines.

K. RICHARD III., A. 3, s. 2.


O, SIR, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender; and, when he's old,

Whip me such honest knaves: Others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,

Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves; And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd their coats,

Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;

And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;

Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:

For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment external, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

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But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.

MACD. I have no words, My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! [They fight. MACB. Thou losest labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air

With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed.
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;

I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Despair thy charm;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

MACB. Accursed be that tongue that tells

me so,

For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;

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