Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,-
He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,

Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
CLIF. No cause?

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

[CLIFFORD stabs him. RUT. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ!

[Dies. CLIF. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

K. HENRY VI., PART III., A. 1, s. 3.

THE MYSTERY OF DEATH.

WE must lay his head to the east :

My father hath a reason for't.

SONG.

Fear no more the heat o'the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages :
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o'the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat ;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physick, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone:
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

CYMBELINE, A. 4, s. 2.

MARRIAGE REPROACHES.

Ar, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown;
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspécts,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was once, when thou unurg'st would'st

VOW

That never words were musick to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to
thee.

How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it;

That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That undividable, incorporate,

Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,

Should'st thou but hear I were licentious!
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep divorcing vow?

I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,

Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;

I live unstain'd, thou, undishonoured.

COMEDY OF ERRORS, A. 2, s. 2.

MYSTERY OF SYMPATHIES

AND ANTIPATHIES.

VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud;

But, if you were the devil, you are fair.

My lord and master loves you; O, such love Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd

The nonpareil of beauty!

OLIVIA.

How does he love me?

VIO. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

OLI. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.

VIO. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In denial I would find no sense,

your

I would not understand it.

OLI.

Why, what would you? VIO. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me.

TWELFTH NIGHT, A. 1, s. 5.

THE NATURE IS SURE TO SHOW

ITSELF.

O THOU goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful

That an invisible instinct should frame them

To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other: valour,

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd!

CYMBELINE, A. 4, s. 2.

THE NECESSITY OF RESPONSIBLE POWER FOR HIGH PURPOSES.

BUTTS.

There, my lord:

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,

Pages and foot-boys.

K. HENRY.

Ha! 'Tis he, indeed:

Is this the honour they do one another?

'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought,

They had parted so much honesty among them,
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:

Let them alone, and draw the curtain close;
We shall hear more anon.

K. HENRY VIII., A. 5, s. 2.

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE.

Now entertain conjecture of a time,

When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,

The hum of either army stilly sounds,