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And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know, he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees, the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws: What trash is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Cæsar?
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know
My answer must be made: But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

But, O, grief!

JULIUS CESAR, A. 1, s. 3.

LIBERTY ABUSED WHEN CON-
SCIENCE IS MISUSED.

LUCIO.

Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes this restraint?

CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:

As surfeit is the father of much fast;
So every scope by the immoderate use,
Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue,
(Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,)
A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE, A. 1, s. 3.

LOVE'S LIFE AND DEATH.

O Charmian,

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or

sits he?

Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?

The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm

And burgonet of men.-He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?
For so he calls me; Now I feed myself

With most delicious poison :-Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted

Cæsar,

When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow;

There would he anchor his aspéct, and die

With looking on his life.

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thought

These deeds must not be

After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACB. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep

no more!

Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.

LADY M.

What do you mean? MACB. Still it cried, Sleep no more! to all

the house:

Glamis hath murder'd sleep: and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more! LADY M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,

You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things:-Go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from hand.-
your
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: Go, carry them; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

MACB.

I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done;

Look on't again, I dare not.

Infirm of purpose!

LADY M. Give me the daggers: The sleeping, and the dead, Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,

For it must seem their guilt.

MACB.

[Exit. Knocking within. Whence is that knocking?

How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes!

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnardine,

Making the green—one red.

MACBETH, A, 2, s. 2.

LIGHT AND SHADE.

THIS man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, A. 1, s. 2.

LIGHT EVER BLESSED.-MUSIC
EVER WELCOME.

PORTIA. That light we see, is burning in my hall.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSA. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

POR. So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king, Until a king be by; and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music hark! NER. It is your musick, madam, of the house.

POR. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. NER. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. POR. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,

When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection!-
Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd!

LORENZO.

That is the voice,

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.

MERCHANT OF VENICE, A. 5, s. 1.

LIGHTS AND SHADES OF LIFE.

THE web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our faults would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, A. 4, s. 3.

LIVING DEATH.

ACCURSED and unquiet wrangling days!
How many of you have mine eyes beheld ?
My husband lost his life to get the crown;
And often up and down my sons were tost,
For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss:

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