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Making them proud of his humility,

Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it:
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere
[now I met the raving lion, when he roar'd

In their poor praise he humbled; such a man Might be a copy to these younger times, Which, followed well, would demonstrate them But goers backward.

Would I were with him!-He would always

sav

(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears; but grafted them To grow there, and to bear) "Let me not live,"

With sharp constraint of hunger, better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,

Whence honor but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all. I will be gone : -Thus his good melancholy oft began, My being here it is, that holds thee hence. On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, [he, Shall I stay here to do it? No, no, although When it was out-"Let me not live," quoth The air of Paradise did fan the house, "After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff And angels offic'd all: I will be gone; Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses That pitiful rumor may report my flight, All but new things disdain; whose judgments To consolate thine ear. [stancies

are

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All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st, -A poor physician's daughter, thou dislik'st Of virtue for the name,-But do not soFrom lowest place when virtuous things proceed,

The place is dignified by the doer's deed.
Where great addition swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honor; good alone

Is good without a name; vileness is so :
The property, by what it is, should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these, to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honor: that is honor's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honor's born,
And is not like the sire. Honors thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our fore-goers; the mere word 's a slave
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb

Of honor'd bones indeed.

Self-accusation of too great Love.
'Poor lord is 't I

That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? And is it I [thou
That drive thee from the sportive court, where
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still piercing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my
lord!

Whoever snopts at him, I set him there :

Custom of Seducers.

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I

Excuse for unreasonable Dislike.
At first

stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impression of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favor;
Scorned a fair color, or express'd it stolen ;
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object; thence it came,
That she whom all men prais'd, and whom
myself,

Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in my eye The dust that did offend it.

§ 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. We have still slept together; Playfellow.

SHAKSPEARE.

[ther;

Rose at an instant; learn'd, play'd, eat togeAnd wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

I

Fond youthful Friendship.

Celia. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?

[mine. Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than Rosalind. I have more cause. [I am. Celia. Thou hast not, cousin. [Duke Pr'ythee be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Has banish'd me, his daughter?

Rosalind. That he hath not. [the love

Celia. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then Which teacheth me that thou and I are one: Shall we be sunderd? shall we part, sweet

girl?

No, let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out
For by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Solitude preferred to a Court Life, and the
Advantages of Adversity.

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these

woods

More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,
"This is no flattery; these are counsellors,
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
I would not change it!

Amiens. Happy is your grace,

Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much. Then, being
alone,

Left and abandoned of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth he; thus misery doth part
The flux of company. Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him: Ah, quoth
Jaques,

Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion; wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke s. And did you leave him in this
contemplation?
[commenting
We did, my lord, weeping and
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke s. Shew me the place;

Amiens.

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he is full of matter.

Conspicuous Virtue exposed to Envy. Adam. What! my young master? O my gentle master,

O my sweet master! O you memory [here?

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Of old Sir Rowland! why what make you Into so quiet and so sweet a style!

Reflections on a wounded Stag, and on the melancholy Jaques.

Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their old confines, with forked heads, Have their round haunches gored.

Why are you virtuous? Why do people love
you?

[liant ?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and va-
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous duke? [you.
Your praise is come too swiftly home before
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh! what a world is this, when what is
Envenoms him that bears it? [comely

Resolved Honesty.
Orlando. What, wouldst thou have me go
and beg my food?

1st Lord. Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind swears, you do more usurp
Than doth your brother who hath banish'd you.
To day my lord of Amiens and myself,
Did steal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique roots peep out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish: and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

coat

Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much mark'd of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift
Augmenting it with tears.
[brook,

Duke s. But what said Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
1st Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream,

Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do-
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ;
I rather will subject me to the malice

Gratitude in an old Servant.

Adam. But do not so; I have five hundred
crowns,

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown.
Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;

All this I give you; let me be your servant :
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility :
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly. Let me go with you,
I'll do the service of a younger man,
In all your business and necessities.

Orlando. Oh! good old man, how well in

thee appears

The constant service of the antique world,
When servants sweat for duty not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion;
And, having that, do choak their service up,
Even with the having. It is not so with thee-
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
But come thy ways, we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.
Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow
thee,

To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty—
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,
But at fourscore it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well and not my master's debtor.

Lover described.

Oh thou didst then ne'er love so heartily. If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into Thou hast not lov'd

Or if thou hast not sate as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd-

Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd-

Description of a Fool, and his Morals on the
Time.

Jaques. As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the

sun,

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good termsIn good set terms-and yet a motley fool. "Good-morrow, fool," quoth I: "No, Sir," quoth he, [fortune." "Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says, very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: [wags: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world "Tis but an hour ago since it was nine: And after one hour more 'twill be eleven: And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot. And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear

The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative :
And I did laugh sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.

Duke. What fool is this? [a courtier; Jaques. O worthy fool! one that had been And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it and in his

brain,

Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. Oh that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat!
Distress prevents Ceremony.
The thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility.

A tender Petition and Reply. Orlando. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you :

[are,

I thought that all things had been savage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to
If ever sat at any good man's feast; [church;
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear,'
And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied-
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be;
In the which hope I blush and hide my sword.
Duke. True it is that we have seen better
[church,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to
And sat at good men's feasts: and wip'd our

days,

eyes

Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : And therefore sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to your wanting may be minister'd.

Orlando. Then but forbear your food a

little while,

Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hun-
I will not touch a bit!
[ger,

The World compared to a Stage.
Thou see'st we are not all alone unhappy-
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play.

Jaques. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

[fancy,

The cicatrice and capable impressure [eyes, Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; And shining morning face, creeping like snail Now, I am sure, there is no force in eyes Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, That can do hurt to any. Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Sylvius. O dear Phoebe, Made to his mistress's eye-brow. Then the If ever (as that ever may be near) soldier, [pard, You meet in some fresh cheek the power of Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Then shall you know the wounds invisible Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, That Love's keen arrows make. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the In fair round belly with good capon lin❜d, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on 's nose and pouch on 's side: His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice,

[justice,

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Scorn retorted.

Od's my little life!

I think she means to tangle mine eyes too.
No, 'faith, proud mistress! hope not after it.
Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow

her,

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain!
You are a thousand times a properer mán
Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you
That make the world full of ill-favour'd chil-
dren.

knees

'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your
[love:
And thank Heaven, fasting, for a good man's
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
Tender Love.

So holy, and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and
then

A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

Real Love dissembled.

Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy :-yet he talks well.But what care I for words? Yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.

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Falls not the axe upon the humble neck,
But first begs pardon; will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Phoebe. I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. It is a pretty youth;-not very pretty ;-
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye; But sure he's proud and yet his pride be-
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, [things, comes him :
[him
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest He'll make a proper man the best thing in
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Is his complexion and faster than his tongue
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;

He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;

And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them His leg is but so so: and yet 'tis well:

kill thee:

There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the
difference

Now counterfeit to swoon: why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. [thee.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains There be some women, Sylvius, had they
Some scar of it: lean but upon a rush,

mark'd him

In parcels, as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love
For what had he to do to chide at me? [him;
He said mine eyes were black, and my hair
black;

And now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me :
I marvel why I answer'd not again;
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.

A fine Description of a sleeping Man, about to be destroyed by a Snake and a Lioness. Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,

And high top bald with high antiquity,
A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck
A green and gilded snake had writh'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, ap-
proach'd

The opening of his mouth; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with intended glides did slip away
Into a bush; under which bush's shade

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects:
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
[vow
The time was once when thou, unurg'd, wouldst
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thine hand,
That never meat sweet savor'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd.
to thee.
[comes it,

How comes it now, my husband, Oh, how
That thou art thus estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me:
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me :
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
Document for Wives, and the ill Effects of
Jealousy.

Abbess. Hath he not lost much wealth by [eye

wreck at sea? Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his

Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, [watch
Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like A sin prevailing much in youthful men,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.

§ 3. COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. ['tis Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

SHAKSPEARE.

Man's Pre-eminence.
WHY head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe,
There's nothing situate under Heaven's eye,
But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, in sky;
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects, and at their con-
trols.

Men, more divine, the master of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat❜ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more pre-eminence than fish or fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.

Patience easier taught than practised. Patience unmov'd, no marvel though she pause;

They can be meek, that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; [pain.
But, were we burden'd with like weight of
As much or more we should ourselves com-
plain.

Defamation.

Adriana. To none of these, except it be the last ;

Namely, some love that drew him off from
home.
[hended him.
Abbess. You should for that have repre-
Adriana. Why so I did.

Abbess. But not rough enough. [let me.
Adriana. As roughly as my modesty would
Abbess. Haply in private.

Adriana. And in assemblies too.
Abbess. But not enough.

Adriana. It was the copy of our con-
ference;

In bed, he slept not for my urging it;
At board, he fed not for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme:
In company, I often glanced at it:
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

Abbess. And therefore came it that the
man was mad.

The venom clamors of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad-dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy rail-

ing;

And therefore comes it that his head is light.
Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy up-
Unquiet meals make ill digestions, [braidings;
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
And what's a fever, but a fit of madness?
Thou say'st his sports were hindered by thy

brawls:

I see the jewel best enamelled Will lose its beauty; and tho' gold bides still, That others touch; yet often touching will Wear gold. And so no man that hath a name, But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Wife's Exhortation on a Husband's Infidelity. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown ; Of pale distemperatures and foes to life

Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair?
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop

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