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PET. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace:

We will have rings, and things, and fine

array;

And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday.

TAMING OF THE SHREW, A. 2, s. 1.

MODESTY OF THE HERO.

PRAY now, no more: my mother,

Who has a charter to extol her blood, When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done,

As you have done: that's what I can; induc'd
As you have been; that's for my country:

He, that has but effected his good will,
Hath overta'en mine act.

CORIOLANUS, A. 1, s. 9.

MURDER OF THE INNOCENT.

K. JOHN. Come hither, Hubert.
gentle Hubert,

O my

We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a soul, counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
То say what good respect I have of thee.
HUB. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause
to say so yet:

But thou shalt have: and creep time ne'er so

slow,

S

Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say,-But let it go:
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience :-If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,

Had back'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,

Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes ;)

Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not:-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well.
HUB. So well, that what you bid me under-
take,

Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I'd do it.

K. JOHN. Do not I know, thou would'st? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way;

And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: Dost thou understand me? Thou art his keeper.

HUB.

And I will keep him so,

That he shall not offend your majesty.

K. JOHN. Death.

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Enough.

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee.Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee: Remember.

KING JOHN, A. 3, s. 3.

MUSIC AND ITS QUALITIES. MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;

Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.[Exit Boy.

Enter DUKE.

I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish

You had not found me here so musical:
Let me excuse me, and believe me so,—
My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.
DUKE. 'Tis good: though musick oft hath
such a charm,

To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE, A. 4, s. 1.

MUSIC THE TOUCHSTONE OF
THE SOUL.

If musick be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

That strain again;-it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.

TWELFTH NIGHT, A. 1, s. 1.

EXPERIENCE MUST BE BOUGHT. No care, no stop! so senseless of expence, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: Takes no account How things go from him; nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: Never mind

Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.

What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel:

I must be round with him, now he comes from

hunting.

Fye, fye, fye, fye!

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 2, s. 2.

MYSTERY OF THE HUMOURS.

In sooth, I know not why I am so sad;
It wearies me; you say, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

MERCHANT OF Venice, a. 1, s. 1.

NATURE COLLAPSING.

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 thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshal'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.-Now o'er the one half world

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offering; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy расе,

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his

design

Moves like a ghost.

earth,

-Thou sure and firm-set

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for

fear

Thy very stones prate of my where-about,

And take the present horror from the time,

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