Слике страница



than you


YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,

Lest you mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head.

BOLING. I know it, uncle; and oppose not Myself against their will.

K. RICHARD II., A. 3, s. 3.


It must be by his death: and, for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crown'd:-
How that might change his nature, there's the

It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder,
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ?-

And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: And, to speak truth of

I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,

That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face :
But when he once attains the utmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,

Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend: So Cæsar may;
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the

Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these, and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis-

And kill him in the shell.

JULIUS CESAR, A. 2, s. 1.


SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

[Gazes on her.

O fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly;

For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, And lay them gently on thy tender side.

I kiss these fingers [kissing her hand] for eternal peace:

Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. MARGARET. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king,

The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

SUF. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. Be not offended, nature's miracle,

Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:

So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. Yet if this servile usage once offend,

Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.

[She turns away, as going.

O, stay!-I have no power to let her pass;
My hand would free her, but my heart says-no.

As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind:
Fye, De la Poole! disable not thyself;
Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such,

Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough.

How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit,
Before thou make a trial of her love?

She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
She is a woman; therefore to be won.

K. HENRY VI., PART I., A. 5, s. 3.


I HAVE surely seen him :

His favour is familiar to me.

Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own.-I know not why, nor wherefore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

CYMBELINE, A. 5, s. 5.


ONE fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish :

Take thou some new infection to the eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.



THE heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or, could this carl,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me,
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours,

As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods.

CYMBELINE, A. 5, s. 2.


"TIS call'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king:
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

MACBETH, A. 4, s. 3.


WHY, then 'tis none to you: for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes

[blocks in formation]

How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

« ПретходнаНастави »