« ForrigeFortsett »
If music be the food of love, play on ;
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again !-it had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour.-Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou .
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.
What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever : when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so'; so give alms,
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,
And own no other function : each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeda,
That all your acts are queens.
As in a theatre the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious,
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes,
Did scowl on Richard ; no man cry'd, God save him ;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off-
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,-
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heav'n hath a hand in those events ;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Alas! poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it.
o mock Ment, AMERICAN SCHOOL CLASS-BOOK, No. 3. 239 Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to
your own grinning! Quite chop-fallen! Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
O HOPE, sweet flatterer, whose delusive touch:
Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort,
Relieves the load of poverty ; sustains
The captive bending with the weight of bonds,
And smooths the pillow of disease and pain ;
Send back th' exploring messenger with joy,
And let me, hail thee from that friendly grove.
Why,get thee gone, horrour and night go with thee,
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,
Go dance about the bow'r and close them in;
And tell them that I sent you to salute them.
Profane the ground, and for th' ambrosial rose,
And breath of jessamin, let hemlock blacken,
And deadly night-shade poison all the air :
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak,
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves :
May serpents, winding up the trees, "let fall
Their hissing necks upon them from above,
And mingle kisses-such as I would give them.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground
But more than why-Why have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villagers with war,
And ostentation of despised arms ?
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence:
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his pow'r.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father and myself
Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh, then, how quickly should this am of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault !
Oh! I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue !---But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission : front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too! If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew! Kath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a Christias is? If you stab us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me I will execute : and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.
O proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fears ;
This is the air-drawn dagger, which you said,
Led you to Duncan. Oh, these flaws and starts
(Impostors to true fear) would well become,
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces :
- Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,
Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, thou dost never fight
But whon her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too
And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou !
A ramping fool; to brag and stamp, and swear,
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
Been sworn my soldier? Bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ?
Thou wearst a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
Fear and Terrour.
How ill this taper burns ! ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of my eyes,
That shapes this monstrous apparition
It comes upon me-Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.
Light thickens : and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood,
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ;
While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
Thou marvell’d at my words : but hold thee still ;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
Alas, I am afraid they have awak'd,
And 'tis not done ; th' attempt and not the deed,
Confounds us -Hark! laid the daggers ready,
He could not miss them. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done it.
Mac. I've done the deed-didst thou not hear a noise ?
Lady. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.
Did you not speak ?
Mac. When ?
Mac. As I descended ?
Mac. Hark!-who lies i’ th' second chamber?
Mac. This is a sorry sight.
Lady. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.
Mac. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cry'd muraer!
That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them :
But they did say their pray’rs, and address'd them
Again to sleep.
Lady. There are two lodg’d together.
Mac. One cried, God bless us! and Amen, the other;
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands,
Listening their fear; I could not say Amen,
When they did say God bless us.
Lady. Consider it not so deeply.
Mac. But wherefore could I not pronounce Amen?
I had most need of blessing, and Amen
Sluck in my throat.
SEEMS, madam? nay, it is : I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief
That can denote me truly : these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the fruits of woe.
On when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ils done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind,
But taking note of thy abhorred aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable to be employed in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a kirg,
Mad'st it no conscience to destroy a prince.
K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufart, to thy sovereign
Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.
K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible!
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereiga speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me to my trial when you will,
Dy'd he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whether they will or no?-
Oh! torture'me no more, I will confess.-
Alive again? then show me where he is,
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him.-
He hath no cyes, the dust hath blinded them
Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs to catch my winged soul!
Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with gentle eye upon this wretch;
O beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair!
War. See how the pangs of death do make him grip.
K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be:
Lord Cardinal, it thou think'st on Heav'n's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope,
He dies, and makes no sign: 0 God, forgive him.