- The wound of peace is surety,. Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd. The beacon of the wife; the tent that fearches To th' bottom of the worst.
Troilus and Cressida, A. 4. Sc. 3.
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low !
The crows and choughs, that wing the mid-way air,,
Shew scarce so gross as beetles: half-way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice: and yon tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for fight: the murmuring furge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient fight
Tapple down headlong!
King Lear, A. 4. Sc..6...
O, then I fee Queen Mab has been with you,
She is the fairies midwife; and the comes,
In shape no bigger than an agate ftone.
On the fore-finger of an alderman,、
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie afleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers knees that dream on curt'fies straight;
O'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes the with a tythe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies afleep;
Then dreams he of another's benefice:
Sometimes she driveth o'er a foldier's neck;
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And cakes the elf-lock in foul fluttish hairs,
Which once entangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage;
This is the.
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain phantafy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconftant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the North,
And being anger'd puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.
Romeo and Juliet, A. 1. Sc. 4.
- They were red-hot with drinking;
So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kiffing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt mufic.
The Tempest, A. 4. Sc. r.
Drunk! and speak, parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O, thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee Devil!
O that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beafts! Othello, A. 2. Sc. 3.
Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd
To bring manslaughter into form, fet quarrelling
Upon the head of Valour; which, indeed,
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
When sects and factions were but newly born:
He's truly valiant, that can wisely fuffer
The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs
His outfides; to wear them like his raiment carelessly,
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!
Timon of Athens, A. 3. Sc. 5.
Pray now, no more. My mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me.
I've done as you have done; that's what I can;
Induc'd as you have been; that's for my country.
He that has but effected his good-will
Hath overta'en mine act.
Coriolanus, A. 1. Sc. 11.
He smil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And with a feeble gripe, says, "Dear, my Lord,
" Commend my service to my sovereign."
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;
And, so espous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A teftament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears. King Henry V. A. 4. Sc. 12.
DYING INJUNCTIONS.
-They say, the tongues of dying men
Inforce attention, like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they're feldom spent in vain;
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say, is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before:
The setting fun-and music in the close.
As the lait taste of sweets is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
King Richard II. A. 2. Sc. I.
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins by times.
Antony and Cleopatra, A. 4. Sc. 1.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes!
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And, in conclufion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this filence yet I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modefty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied fimplicity,
In least, speaks most to my capacity,
A Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5. Sc.
That pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders;
E'en till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still fecure
And confident from foreign purposes-
E'en till that utmost corner of the west,
Salute thee for her king.
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them!-Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do reft but true.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-Paradise,
This fortrefs built by Nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This precious stone set in the filver fea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For christian service and true chivalry,
As is the fepulchre in stubborn Jewry
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's fon;
This land of fuch dear fouls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a tenement or pelting farm.
England, bound in with the triumphant fea,
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