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Take thou some of it, and seek through this

grove :

A sweet Athenian lady is in love

With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;
But do it, when the next thing he espies
May be the lady: Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
Effect it with some care; that he may prove
More fond on her, than she upon her love:
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, A. 2, s. 2.

THE MEDIEVAL WARRIOR.

I THANK him, that he cuts me from my tale,
For I profess not talking; only this-
Let each man do his best: and here draw I
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, Esperance !-Percy!-and set on.-
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
And by that musick let us all embrace :
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.

K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 5, s. 2.

THE MIND REQUIRES THE GREAT ARCHITECT TO SET THE HEART IN ORDER.

WHY, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me.

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than
stones:

A stone is silent, and offendeth not;

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

TITUS ANDRONICUS, A. 3, s. 1.

THE MISERY OF SUSPICION.

LET none disturb us: Why this charge of thoughts?

The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy,
By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour,

In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
(The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed
me quiet!

Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,

And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch,
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here:
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.
Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,
That have their first conception by mis-dread,
Have after-nourishment and life by care;
And what was first but fear what might be done,
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done.

And so with me ;-the great Antiochus ('Gainst whom I am too little to contend, Since he's so great, can make his will his act,) Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;

Nor boots it me to say, I honour him,

If he suspect I may dishonour him:

And what may make him blush in being known, He'll stop the course by which it might be known.

PERICLES, A. 1, s. 2.

THE MORALITY OF TIME.

O GENTLEMEN, the time of life is short;
To spend that shortness basely, were too long,
If life did ride upon a dial's point,

Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

An if we live, we live to tread on kings;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
Now for our conscience, the arms are fair,
When the intent of bearing them is just.

K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 5, s. 2.

THE MOTHER CONQUERS—THE

HERO DIES.

O MOTHER, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do

ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome: But, for your son,―believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come ;

Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
But we will drink together; and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you: all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace.

CORIOLANUS, A. 5, s. 3.

THE MOTHER SAVES HER BOY.

DUCHESS. O king, believe not this hardhearted man;

Love, loving not itself, none other can.

YORK. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? DUCH. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege.

BOLINGBROKE.

DUCH.

Rise up, good aunt.

[Kneels.

Not yet, I thee beseech:

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,

And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend
my knee.

[Kneels.

YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.

[Kneels.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCH. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his

face;

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;

His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they

grow:

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;

Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them

have

That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. BOLING. Good aunt, stand up.

DUCH.

Nay, do not say-stand up; But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how : The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. YORK. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez moy.

DUCH. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st the word itself against the word!—
Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there:
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do
pierce,

Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.

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