SHYLOCK CAUTIONING JESSICA.
I am bid forth to supper, Jessica,
There are my keys :
Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street,
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces;
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements,
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night;
But I will go.
-Well, Jessica, go in,
Perhaps I will return immediately;
Do as I bid you,
A proverb never stale in a thrifty mind.
CAUTION AGAINST PROCRASTINATION.
Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, 'till wisdom is push'd out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time;
Year after year it steals, 'till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
INTREATING, INVITING, &c.
FRENCH HERALD TO KING HENRY V.
-Great King,
I come to thee for charitable license,
That we may wonder o'er this bloody field,
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men ;
For many of our princes, (woe the while,)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Inviting, Soliciting, Giving, and such like actions, which
pose some degree of affection, real or pretended, are accompanied with much the same looks and gestures as express love: but more moderate.
PERDITA AT THE SHEEP SHEARING.
With my father's will, I should take on me
The hostship o' the day; You're welcome, sir,
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing.
-Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,
The marygold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think, they are given
To men of middle age; you are very welcome.
Now, my fairest friend,
I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
-O, these I lack,
REMORSE is, of all sentiments which can enter the human mind, the most dreadful. It is made up of shame from the sense of the impropriety of past conduct; of grief for the effects of it, of pity for those who suffer by it; and of the dread and terror of punishment from the consciousness of the justly provoked resentment of all rational creatures. This painful sense of guilt, casts down the countenance, and clouds it with anxiety; hangs down the head; draws the eyebrows down upon the eyes; The right hand beats the breast; The teeth gnash with anguish. The whole body is strained and violently agitated. If this strong remorse is succeeded by the more gracious disposition of penitence or contrition, then the eyes are raised (but with great appearance of doubting and fear) to the throne of heavenly mercy; and immediately cast down again to the earth. Then floods of tears are seen to flow. The knees are bended; or the body prostrated on the ground. The arms are spread in a suppliant posture, and the voice of deprecation is uttered with sighs, groans, timidity, hesitation and trembling.
JAFFIER GOING TO MEET THE CONSPIRATORS.
I'm here; and thus, the shades of night around me,
I look as if all hell were in my heart,
And I in hell. Nay, surely 'tis so with me!-
For every step I tread, methinks some fiend
Knocks at my breast, and bids me not be quiet.
I've heard how desperate wretches, like myself,
Have wandered out at this dead time of night,
To meet the foe of mankind in his walk.
Sure I'm so curs'd, that, though of heaven forsaken,
No minister of darkness cares to tempt me.
KING JOHN THINKING ARTHUR MURDERED.
O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation!
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done! had'st not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd;
Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind;
But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee, of Arthur's death;
And thou to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
ZANGA TOUCHED WITH REMORSE AT HIS PLOT.
-Ah! what is well? O pang to think!
O dire necessity! is this my province ?
Whither my soul! ah, whither art thou sunk
Beneath thy sphere ?
Does this become a soldier? This become
Whom armies follow'd, and a people lov'd?
My martial glory withers at the thought.
But great my end: and since there are no other,
These means are just; they shine with borrow'd light
Illustrious from the purpose they pursue.
PART OF SATAN'S SOLILOQUY.—MILTON.
Ah, wherefore? He deserved no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due! Yet all his good proved ill in me,
And wrought but malice.
THE KING IN HAMLET REFLECTING ON HIS BROTHER'S
MURDER.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder? Pray, can I not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will;
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What, if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens,
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be; since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder,-
My crown, my own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above!
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom, black as death!
O lim'd soul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe;
All may be well. [Kneels, then rises.]
My words fly up-my thoughts remain below;
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
PRAYER OF HENRY V. BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.
O God of battles steel my soldiers' hearts!
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, O Lord,
O not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I, Richard's body have interred anew;
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
Five chantries, where the sad solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ;
Though all that I can do, is nothing worth;
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.
PAULINA SORRY AT UPBRAIDING LEONTES.
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent ;-Alas! I have shew'd too much
The rashness of a woman; he is touch'd
To the noble heart. What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grief; do not receive affliction
At my petition, I beseech you; rather
Let me be punish'd that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal Sir, forgive a foolish woman,
The love I bore your queen,-to fool again!
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children
I'll not remember you of my own lord
Who is lost too; take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
OBDURACY-HARDNESS OF HEART.
PART OF SATAN'S SOLILOQUY-MILTON.
All hope excluded thus, behold, instead
Of us, outcast, exiled, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewell hope; and with hope, farewell fear;
Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost :
Evil be thou my good; by thee at least
Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold;
By thee, and more than half, perhaps, will reign;
As man, ere long, and this new world shall know.
SIR GILES OVERREACH AND LORD LOVEL.
-Though I ruin
The country to supply your riotous waste,
The scourge of prodigals, want shall ne'er find you.
Lovel. Are you not mov'd with the sad imprecations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By your sinister practices?
Sir Giles. Yes, as rocks are,
When foamy billows split themselves against
Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is mov❜d,
When wolves, with hunger pin'd, howl at her brightness.
I'm of a solid temper, and like these,
Steer on a constant course.
Nay, when my ears are pierc'd with widows' cries,
And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold,
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm
Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.
RESIGNATION.
ANTONIO TO BASSANIO.
-I am arm'd and well prepared,
Give me your hand, Bassanio, fare you well.
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you:
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom; it is still her use
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty, from which lingering penance
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