By which he should revive: and even so
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and with obsequious fond-

WOMAN'S GREAT MISTAKE, OR THE MAID THE BETTER COUNSELLOR.

JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist
me!

And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,-
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charácter'd and engrav'd,-
To lesson me, and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

LUCETTA. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.

JUL. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; Much less shall she, that hath love's wings, to

fly;

And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.

JUL. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?

Pity the dearth that I have pined in,

By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,

Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire;

But qualify the fire's extreme rage,

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. JUL. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns;

The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth

rage;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;

And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
JUL. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds

As

may beseem some well-reputed page.

Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair.

JUL. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : To be fantastick, may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have

What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly:

But tell me, wench, how will the world repute

me,

For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.

JUL. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come, No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone: I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.

JUL. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances as infinite of love,

Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful

men.

JUL. Base men, that use them to so base effect!

But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart, as far from fraud, as heaven from
earth.

Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him!

JUL. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not

that wrong,

To bear a hard opinion of his truth:

Only deserve my love, by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,
To furnish me upon my longing journey.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my lands, my reputation;

Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence:
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my tarriance.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, a. 2, s. 7.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

WOMEN fear too much, even as they love;

And women's fear and love hold quantity;

In neither aught, or in extremity."

Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;

And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love

there.

grows

HAMLET, A. 3, s. 2.

WOMAN'S LOVE AT PARTING.

THERE cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this.

CYMBELINE, A. 1, s. 2.

WOMAN'S SOURCE OF EARTHLY HAPPINESS.

HELENA. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!

Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air

More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

Sickness is catching; O, were favour so!

Your's would I catch, fair Hermia; ere I go,

My ear should catch your voice, my eye your

eye,

My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.

Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.
HERMIA. I frown upon him, yet he loves me
still.

HEL. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HER. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. HEL. O, that my prayers could such affection move!

HER. The more I hate, the more he follows

me.

HEL. The more I love, the more he hateth

me.

HER. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. HEL. None, but your beauty; 'Would that fault were mine!

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, A. 1, s. 1.

WOMAN THE BETTER MAN.

WOE the while! O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, Break too!

What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks ? fires? What flaying? boiling,

In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture
Must I receive; whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny