Lor. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Sit, Jessica Look how the floor of heaven Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Enter Musicians. Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; [Music. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive; For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, If they but hear, perchance, a trumpet sound, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Let no such man be trusted -Mark the music. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA at a distance. Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. Ner. When the moon shone we did not see the candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. How many things by season season'd are TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Act iii., sc. ii. Pandarus' Orchard. Tro. Oh, that I thought it could be in a woman (As, if it can, I will presume in you) To feed for aye her lamps and flames of love; Or that persuasion could but thus convince me, Oh virtuous fight, Might be affronted with the match and weight As truth's authentic author to be cited, Cres. Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing; yet let memory, From false to false, among false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said-as false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, CYMBELINE. Act iv., sc. ii. Before the Cave. Re-enter ArviraGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms. Bel. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for! The bird is dead, Arv. Gui. Oh, melancholy! Bel. Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made: but I, Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy! How found you him? Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Gui. Arv. Where? O' the floor; His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept: and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud. Gui. Why, he but sleeps: If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee. With fairest flowers, Arv. I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack Act i., sc. iii. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. A Room in Polonius' House. Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: And, sister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you. Oph. Do you doubt that? Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute; Oph. No more but so? Think it no more: For nature, crescent, does not grow alone Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now: His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; He may not, as unvalued persons do, |