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Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow : Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage :
Thy word is current with him for
my death, But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
These dangerous unsafe lunes o' the king! bestrew them!
He must be told on 't, and he shall; the office
What have kings That privates have not tɔo, save ceremony?
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
They often feel a world of restless cares;
So that, between their titles, and low name,
There is nothing differs but the outward fame.
O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
When first this order was ordain'd, my Lords,
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady :-
The charm dissolves apace ;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
We must not make a scare-crow of the law,
There is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a precedent;
And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state : it cannot be.
We have strict statutes, and most biting laws,
goes not out to prey.
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
Hear him but reason in divinity,
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish,
You would desire the king were made a prelate.
List his discourse of war,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him :
Let us see
Leave, gentle wax ; and manners, blame us not:
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
Read o'er this:
And after, this: and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.
Why, how now, gentlemen!
What see you in those papers that you lose
So much complexion? look ye, how they change!
Out, out, brief candle,
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
And, like an insubstantial pageant faded,
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
O Gentlemen, the time of life is short:
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
To be o'erpow'r'd.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den?
And fright him there; and make him tremble there? O, let it not be said.
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast,
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch