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The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, How swift his ship.

CYMBELINE, A. 1, s. 4.


I WOULD have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but

To look upon him;

till the diminution

Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air; and then
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept.

CYMBELINE, A. 1, s. 4.


MADAM, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in 'my veins :
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,

Express'd, and not express'd.



OBERON. Go thy way: thou shalt not from

this grove,

Till I torment thee for this injury.—

My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's musick.


I remember.

ОВЕ. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,)

Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west;

And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat❜ry


And the imperial vot'ress passed on,

In maiden meditation, fancy-free.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,—

Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound,

And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee


The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid,
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again,
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

Having once this juice,

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes:
The next thing then she waking looks upon,

(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,)
She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
And ere I take this charm off from her sight,
(As I can take it, with another herb,)
I'll make her render up her page to me.


LOVE'S WISDOM AND PRESCIENCE. LYSANDER. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way; We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day.

HERMIA. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed, For I upon this bank will rest my head.

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;

One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. HER. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,

Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

LYS. O, take the sense, sweet, of my

Love takes the meaning, in love's conference.
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit ;

So that but one heart we can make of it:
Two bosoms interchained with an oath;
So then, two bosoms, and a single troth.
Then, by your side no bed-room me deny ;
For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

HER. Lysander riddles very prettily:Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied.

But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off; in human modesty
Such separation, as, may well be said,
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid :
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end!
Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
And then end life, when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed:
: Sleep give thee all his rest!
HER. With half that wish the wisher's eyes
be press'd!


MAIDS LIKE NOT MAUDLINS. SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe:

Say, that

you love me not; but say not so In bitterness: The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ?

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance.

PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,

Who shut their coward gates on atomies,— Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;

And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
Or, if thou can'st not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.

Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,

The cicatrice and capable impressure

Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine


Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.


O dear Phebe,

If ever, (as that ever may be near,)

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love's keen arrows make.


But, till that time

Come not thou near me: and, when that time


Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have more beauty,

(As, by my faith, I see no more in


Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life!

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