Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. Oh, Heaven !-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. PERFECTION ADMITS OF NO ADDITION. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, DESPAIR. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, A MAN IN TEARS. Let me wipe off this honourable dew, But this effusion of such manly drops, This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, APPROACH OF DEATH. It is too late; the life of all his blood ENGLAND INVINCIBLE IF UNANIMOUS. England never did (nor never shall) Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Naught shall make us rue If England to itself do rest but true. KING RICHARD II. REPUTATION. The purest treasure mortal time afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. COWARDICE. That which in mean men we entitle-patience, THOUGHTS INEFFECTUAL TO MODERATE AFFLICTION. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, SUN-RISING AFTER A DARK NIGHT. Know'st thou not That when the searching eye of Heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, MELANCHOLY STORIES. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire Of woful ages, long ago betid :* And ere thou bid good night, to quit† their grief, And send the heroes weeping to their beds. VIOLETS. Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? KING HENRY IV.-PART I. HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FINICAL FOP. But I remember, when the fight was done, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held He gave his nose, and took't away again;- With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me; among the rest demanded I then, all smarting with my wounds, being cold, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answered, neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not;-for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark!) And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, DANGER. I'll read you matter deep and dangerous; A box of perfumes. † A parrot. |