« ПретходнаНастави »
Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
Act 3, Sc. I.
Tro. Fears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.
Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to fear the worst oft cures the worst.-Act 3, Sc. 2.
Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too : our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won : they are burs, I can tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown.—Act 3, Sc. 2.
O virtuous fight,
When right with right wars who shall be most right !
True swains in love shall in the world to come
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes,
Full of protest, of oath and big compare,
Want similes, truth tired with iteration,
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre,
Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
As truth's authentic author to be cited,
"As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse,
And sanctify the numbers. -Act 3, Sc. 2.
Achilles. 'Tis certain, greatness, once falln out with fortune,
Must fall out with men too : what the declined is
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer,
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit :
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Do one pluck down another and together
Die in the fall. - Act 3, Sc. 3.
Achil. The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself,
That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself,
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos’d
Salutes each other with each other's form ;
For speculation turns not to itself,
Till it hath travell’d and is mirror'd there
Where it may see itself.— Act 3, Sc. 3.
Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright : to have done is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery.
Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path ;
For emulation hath a thousand sons
That one by one pursue : if you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by
And leave you hindmost;
Or, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O’er-run and trampled on: then what they do in
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours ;
For time is like a fashionable host
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer : the welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was ; for beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,
That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
The present eye praises the present object.
Act 3, Sc. 3. Ulyss. The providence that's in a watchful state
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold,
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps,
Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery—with whom relation
Durst never meddle—in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine
Than breath or pen can give expressure to.
Act 3, Sc. 3. Patr. Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves :
Omission to do what is necessary
Seals a commission to a blank of danger ;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints,
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.—Act 3, Sc. 3. Hect.
The end crowns all,
And that old common arbitrator, time,
Will one day end it.-Act 4, Sc. 5.
I will go wash;
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush or no.—Act I, Sc. 9.
Volumnia. Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.
Act 2, Sc. 1.
Cor. This Triton of the minnows.—Act 3, Sc. I.
Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcases of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ;
And here remain with your uncertainty !
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts !
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till at length
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels,
Making not reservation of yourselves,
Still your own foes, deliver you
As most abated captives to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back :
There is a world elsewhere. -Act 3, Sc. 3.
Cor. O world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise,
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour,
On a dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity : so, fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep
To take the one the other, by some chance,
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends
And interjoin their issues. So with me:
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
This enemy town. I'll enter : if he slay me,
He does fair justice; if he give me way,
I'll do his country service. — Act 4, Sc. 4.
Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune,
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They'll give him death by inches. — Act 5, Sc. 4.
Cor. Like an eagle in a dovecote, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.
Alone I did it !-Boy !--Act 5, Sc. 6.
TITUS ANDRONICUS. Tamora. Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.—Act I, Sc.I.
All. He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
Act I, Sc. 1.
Demetrius. She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ;*
She is a woman, therefore may be won;
She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. -Act 2, Sc. I.
Dem. What, man ! more water glideth by the mill
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive.—Act 2, Sc. 1.
* Compare this with Quotation from “Henry VI.” Pt. 1. Act 5, Sc. 3.