« ПретходнаНастави »
Now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold, indeed.
With all my love I do commend me to you:
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
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,
Brutus hath riv'd my
In fortune's love; then the bold and coward,
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
That we have been familiar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago,
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
By heav'n, I cannot flatter: I defy
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
Canst thou the conscience lack,
Give him all kindness: I had rather have
O, let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
Contend against thy valour.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
As Cæsar's death's hour; nor no instrument
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond,
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ?
We still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
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.
O, 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
For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
That 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;
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart;
But, soft: behold! lo, where it comes again!
Speak to me.
Thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they distill'd Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew,
Upon a fearful summons.
Angels and ministers of
grace 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,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?