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• Whom the gods love die young.'

(Friar Laurence loq.)

HEAVEN and yourself Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid : Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion ; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced : And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 0, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well : She's not well married that lives married long ; But she's best married that dies married

young. Romeo and Juliet, iv. 5.


(King loq.)
This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind :
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind :
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
Now one the better, then another best,

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down ;
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so :
For what is in this world but grief and woe?
O God ! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year ;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean;
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely !
Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy


To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
0, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
And, to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Third Part of King Henry VI., ii. 5.


(Edgar loq.)

How fearful And dizzy ’t is, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles: halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminished to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge, That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.

King Lear, iv. 6.


(Duke loq.) Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, “This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head. And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

As You Like It, ii. 1.


(Viola loq.)

She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed ?
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Twelfth Night, ii. 4.



(King loq.)

STRANGE is it that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty. If she be
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
Of virtue for the name : but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed :
Where great additions swell’t, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
Is good, without a name: vileness is so :
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ;

In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire : honours best thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our foregoers : the mere word's a slave,
Debauched on every tomb; on every grave

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