Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had ftill kept loyal to poffeffion,
And left me in reputelefs banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood;
But, being feldom feen, I could not stir,
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at!
That men would tell their children, " This is he;"
Others would say, "Where? which is Bolingbroke?"
And then I ftole all courtefy from heav'n,
And dreft myself in much humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud fhouts and falutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my perfon fresh and new;
My prefence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er feen but wondered at; and fo my ftate,
Seldom, but fumptuous fhewed like a feast,
And won by rareness fuch folemnity.
The fkipping king, he ambled up and down
With fhallow jesters, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and foon burnt: 'fcarded his ftate:
Mingled his royalty with carping fools:
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh with gibing boys, and stand the push
every beardless vain comparative:
Grew a companion to the common streets;
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
That, being daily fwallow'd by men's eyes,
They furfeited with honey, and began
To loath the tafte of sweetness: whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occafion to be seen,
He was but, as the cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded; feen, but with fuch eyes
As, fick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze;
Such as is bent on fun-like majefty.
When it shines feldom in admiring eyes:
But rather drows'd and hung, their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and rendered fuch afpect
As cloudy men ufe to their adverfaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
Henry IV. Part I. A. 3. Sc. 4.
DISCONTENT.
I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind;
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will no doubt tempt him to any thing.
Richard III. A. 4. Sc. 2.
Canft thou not minifter to a mind difeas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted forrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the foul bofom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Difguife, I fee thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
Twelfth Night, A. 2. Sc. 1.
DISLIKE.
I ftuck my choice upon her, ere my
Durft make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impreffion of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful perfpective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it stol'n,
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a moft hideous object: thence it came
That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have loft, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The duft that did offend it.
All's Well that Ends Well, A. 5. Sc. 2.
DISSIMULATION.
She's but the fign and femblance of her honour :
Behold how like a maid fhe blushes here!
O, what authority and fhew of truth
Can cunning fin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood as modeft evidence
To witnefs fimple virtue? would you not fwear,
All you that fee her, that fhe were a maid,
By these exterior fhews? But the is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltinefs, not modefty.
Much ado about Nothing, A. 4. Sc. 1,
DISTRACTION.
As the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints
Like ftrengthlefs hinges buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themfelves. Hence, therefore, thou nice
crutch;
A fcaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Muft glove this hand: and hence, thou fickly quoif,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conqueft, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The rugged'it hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heaven kifs earth! Now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die :
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a ling'ring act;
But let one fpirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bofoms, that each heart being fet
On bloody courses, the rude fcene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead.
Henry IV. Part II. A. 1. Sc. 3.
DOOMSDAY.
Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the bafelefs fabrick of this vifion,
The cloud-clapt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The folemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit fhall diffolve;
And, like this in fubftantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind! we are fuch stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempeft, A. 4. Sc. 1.
Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applaufe and univerfal fhout,
Giddy in fpirit, gazing ftill in doubt,
Whether those peals of praise be his or no :
So (thrice-fair Lady!) ftand I, even fo,
As doubtful whether what I fee be true,
Until confirm'd, fign'd, ratify'd by you.
The Merchant of Venice, A. 3. Sc. a.
DOVER CLIF F.
(A Defcription of it.)
Come on, Sir; here's the place :- ftand still.
And dizzy 'tis to caft one's eyes fo low!
The crows and choughs that wing the mid-way air,
Shew scarce fo grofs as beetles: half-way down
Hangs one that gathers famphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he feems no bigger than his head:
The fifhermen 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 the unnumber'd idle pebbles chases,
Cannot be heard fo high: I'll look no more,
Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight
Topple down headlong!
O then I fee Queen Mab has been with you.
She is the fairies midwife; and he comes,
In fhape no bigger than an agate stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's nofes as they lie asleep :
Her waggon-fpokes made of long fpinners legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafshoppers;
The traces of the fmalleft fpider'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 fo 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 fquirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers.
And in this state the gallops night by night
Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love.
On courtiers knees, that dream on curtefies straight :
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftraight dream on fees:
O'er ladies lips, who ftraight on kiffes dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Because their breaths with fweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes the gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes the with a tythe-pig's tail
Tickling a parfon's nofe as a'lies afleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck;
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts and wakes;
And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two;
And fleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horfes in the night,
And cakes the elf-lock in foul fluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage;
This is the.
Thus I talk of dreams
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain phantafy;
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air ;
And more inconftant than the wind, who wooes
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