« ПретходнаНастави »
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongu'd against
The deep damnation of his taking-off.
Safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ;'
The least a death to nature.
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake,
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
He took my father grossly, full of bread;
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven?
But, in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him.
Then live, Macduff; What need I fear of thee?
But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure,
And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale hearted fear, it lies,
And sleep in spight of thunder.
Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o'the conscience
To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity
Sometimes, to do me service: Nine or ten times
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe;
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it, accident.
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds.
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:—
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd,
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it.
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals !
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers! if you had,
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse.
This is the man should do the bloody deed;
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Does shew the mood of a much-troubled breast.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind.
Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop
I like you, lads ;-about business straight;
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
Give me some music; music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.
If music 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.
Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bone,
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
This music mads me, let it sound no more;
For though it have help'd mad men to their wits,
In me it seems, it will make wise men mad.
This musick crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air.
Preposterous ass! that never read so far
To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,
After his studies, or his usual pain?
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus :
Let no such man be trusted.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews;
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tygers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
Once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet aud harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet.
(Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) What is your name?
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Brutus, and Cæsar: What should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great?
I was born free as Cæsar; so were you
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one,
With news the time's with labour; and throws forth Each minute, some.