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Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

FEMALE FRIENDSHIP.

Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us: oh! and is all forgot?

All school days' friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion;
Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like a double cherry, seeming parted,

But yet a union in partition;

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So with two seeming bodies, but one heart:
Two of the first like coats in heraldry,

Due but to one, and crowned with the crest.
And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:

Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.

FLATTERY AND FRIENDSHIP.

EVERY one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery:

Words are easy like the wind;

Faithful friends 'tis hard to find;

LIFE.

Every man will be thy friend,
While thou hast wherewith to spend.
But if store of crowns be scant,

No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice.
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown;
They that fawned on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will keep thee in thy need.
If thou sorrow he will weep;
If thou wake he cannot sleep.
Thus of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful Friend from flattering Foe.

LIFE.

TO-MORROW, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

USEFULNESS.

HEAVEN doth with us as we with torches do,
Not light them for ourselves; for if our virtues

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Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike,

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched,
But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence,
But like a thrifty goddess she determines
Herself the glory of a creator,-
Both thanks and use.

NEGLECTED OPPORTUNITY.

THERE is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat:
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

BORN, 1568; DIED, 1639.

FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD.

FAREWELL, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles;
Farewell, ye honoured rays, ye glorious bubbles!
Fame's but a hollow echo; gold pure clay;
Honour the darling but of one short day;
Beauty the eye's idol, but a damasked skin;
State but a golden prison to live in,

And torture freeborn minds; embroidered trains
Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins;
And blood allied to greatness, is alone
Inherited, not purchased, nor our own;

Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth,
Are but the fading blossoms of the earth.

THE DIGNITY OF MAN.

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Welcome, pure thoughts; welcome, ye silent groves;
These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves:
Now the winged people of the sky shall sing
My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring:
A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass,
In which I will adore sweet virtue's face.
Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares,
No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears:
Then here I'll sigh, and sigh my hot love's folly,
And learn t' affect a holy melancholy';

And if contentment be a stranger then,
I'll ne'er look for it but in Heaven again.

SIR JOHN DAVIES.

BORN, 1570; DIED, 1626.

THE DIGNITY OF MAN.

Oн what is man, great Maker of mankind!

That thou to him so great respect dost bear; That thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind, Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer?

Oh what a lively life, what heavenly power,
What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire,
How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower

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Dost thou within this dying flesh inspire!

Thou leav'st thy print in other works of thine,
But thy whole image thou in man hast writ;
There cannot be a creature more divine,

Except, like thee, it should be infinite:

Nor hath he given these blessings for a day,
Nor made them on the body's life depend;
The soul, though made in time, survives for aye;
And though it hath beginning, sees no end.

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THE CHARACTER OF TRUE VALOUR.
THE things true valour's exercis'd about,
Are poverty, restraint, captivity,

Banishment, loss of children, long disease;
The least is death. Here valour is beheld,
Properly seen; about these it is present:
Not trivial things, which but require our confidence.
And yet to those we must object ourselves,
Only for honesty; if any other

Respects be mixt, we quite put out her light.
And as all knowledge, when it is remov'd,
Or separate from justice, is call'd craft,
Rather than wisdom; so a mind affecting,
Or undertaking dangers, for ambition,
Or any self-pretext, not for the public,
Deserves the name of daring, not of valour.
And over-daring, is as great a vice,

As over-fearing.

But as it is not the mere punishment,

But cause that makes a martyr, so it is not
Fighting, or dying, but the manner of it,
Renders a man himself. A valiant man
Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger,
But worthily, and by selected ways:
He undertakes with reason, not by chance.
His valour is the salt to his other virtues,

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They are all unseason'd without it. The waiting maids, Or the concomitants of it, are his patience,

His magnanimity, his confidence,

His constancy, security, and quiet;
He can assure himself against all rumour,
Despairs of nothing, laughs at contumelies,
As knowing himself advanc'd in a height
Where injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion
Touch him with soil!

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