From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend,

ACT IV.

SONG.

Take, oh take, those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Hide, oh hide, those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears:
But my poor heart first set free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

GREATNESS SUBJECT TO CENSURE.
O place and greatness, millions of false eyes,
Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report
Run with these false and most contrarious quests
Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes* of wit
Make thee the father of their idle dream,
And rack thee in their fancies.

SOUND SLEEP.
As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour
When it lies starklyf in the traveller's bones.

ACT V.

* CHARACTER OF AN ARCH HYPOCRITE.

O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madness: make not impos

sible That which but seems unlike: 'Tis not impossible. * Sall.es.

Stitly.

but one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
In all his dressings,* characts, titles, forms,
Be an arch-villain: believe it, royal prince,
If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

ACT I. MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY. NOW, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And other of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

WORLDLINESS.

You have too much respect upon the world: 'They lose it, that do buy it with much care.

THE WORLD'S TRUE VALUE,
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part. «

CHEERFULNESS.

Let me play the Fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come: And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish?

* Habits and characters of office

AFFECTED GRAVITY,
I tell thee what, Antonio,-
I love thee, ad it is my love that speaks;
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness* entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
0, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wisc,
For saying nothing.

LOQUACITY. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and, when you have them, they are not worth the search.

MEDIOCRITY. For aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hạirs, but competency lives longer.

SPECULATION MORE EASY THAN PRACTICE. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the eripple.

* Obstinate silence.

THE JEW'S MALICE.
Bass. This is signior Antonio.
Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican be

looks!
I hate him, for he is a Christian:
But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

HYPOCRISY.

Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart;
0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

THE JEW'S EXPOSTULATION.
Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialtoʻyou have rated me
About my monies, and my usances:*
Still havč I borne it with a patient shrug;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe:
You call me--misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then it now appears, you need my help:
Go to then; you come to me, and you say,
Shyloc's, we would have monies: You say so,
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold: Monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,

* Interest,

Hath a dog money? is it possible,
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this,
Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spurn'd me such a day: another time
You call'd me-dog; and for these courtesies
I'N lend you thus much monies.

ACT II.

GRAVITY ASSUMED.

Signior Bassanio, hear me: If I do not put on a sober habit, Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely; Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen; Use all the observance of civility, Like one well studied in a sad ostent* To please his grandam, never trust me more.

THE JEW'S COMMANDS TO HIS DAUGHTER. Lock up my doors; and when you hear'the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street, To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces: But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements, Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter My sober house. POSSESSION MORE LANGUID THAN EXPECTATION,

0, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly Io seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont, To keep obliged faith unforfeited! Who riseth from a feast, With what keen appetite that he sits down? Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire

* Show of staid and serious demeanour.