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O, that estates, degrees, and offices,
We're not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
How many be commanded, that command ?
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
To be new varnish'd.
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
Here is a dear and true industrious friend,
Betwixt that Holmedon, and this seat of ours.
One of my fellows had the speed of him:
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
I have not seen
I must go send some better messenger;
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Pr'ythee, say on;
The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd.
This thou would'st say,-Your son did thus, and thus ;
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive;
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
go, I go; look, how I
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
Miracles are ceas'd;
And therefore we must needs admit the means,
A merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come
And then the old quire hold their hips and loffe.
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
'Tis ever common,
That men are merriest when they are from home..
O, mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
The fool multitude, that choose by show,
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
What would you have, you curs, That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you,. The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,
Where he should find you lions, finds
you hares ;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
Or hailstone in the sun.
Your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind;
Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home;
Hang ’em ! They said, they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth pro
That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat; That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods sent
Corn for the rich men only :-With these shreds
For the mutable, rank-scented many,
Regard me as I do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves: I say again,
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate
They'll sit by th' fire, and presume to know
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong,
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
Our slippery people
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver,
Till his deserts are passed.