« ПретходнаНастави »
Now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold, indeed.
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There needs must be a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit.
With all my love I do commend me to you:
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack,
I have not from your eyes
that gentleness, And shew of love, as I was wont to have : You bear too stubborn, and too strange a hand, Over your friend that loves you.
I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you deny'd me: Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces ! Brutus hath riy'd my
heart: A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
In fortune's love; then the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin,
But in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away,
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best condition'd and unweary'd spirit
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,
that draws breath in Italy.
That we have been familiar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much. Therefore be
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak’st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.
By heav'n, I cannot Aatter : I defy
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
my heart's love, hath no man than yourself, Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, Lord.
Canst thou the conscience lack,
To think I shall lack friends ? Secure thy heart ;
If I could broach the vessels of my love,
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use,
As I can bid thee speak.
Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends, than enemies.
0, let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scar'd the moon with splinters ! Here I clip
The anvil of my sword; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom my soul is any jot at odds,
More than the infant that is born to-night.
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Cæsar's death's hour; nor no instrument
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond,
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us—0, is all now forgot ?
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ?
We still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And whereso'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.
So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ;
But yet a union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.
O, that a man might know
The end of this day's business, ere it come
But it sufficeth, that the day will end,
And then the end is known.
Oh heaven! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times.
Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea.
0, if this were seen, The happiest youth,—viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant.
For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
grew the more by reaping.
I will send his ransom,
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me :-
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.
O my good lord, the world is but a word ;
Were it all yours, to give it in a breath,
How quickly were it gone!
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart;
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
But, soft: behold! lo, where it comes again !
I'll cross it, though it blast me.—Stay, illusion !
If thou hast any sound, or use a voice,
Speak to me.
Thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they distillid
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew,
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons.
Angels and ministers of
defend us !
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee.
O, answer me:
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn’d,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again ?
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous ; and w
fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?