« PreviousContinue »
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
BE thou blest Bertram!
and succeed thy father 'n manners, as in shape! Thy blood, and virtue, ontend for empire in thee; and thy goodness hare with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, o wrong to none: be able for thine enemy ather in power, than use; and keep thy friend nder thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, ut never tax'd for speech.
TOO AMBITIOUS LOVE.
I am undone; there is no living, none, Bertram be away. It were all one, hat I should love a bright particular star, od think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 'The hind that would be mated by the lion, Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curts,
In our heart's fable;* heart, too capable
I know him a notorious liar,
CHARACTER OF A NOBLE COURTIER.
In his youth
* Helena considers her heart as the tablet on which his
*Countenance. His is put for its.
ACT II. HONOUR DUE TO PERSONAL VIRTUE ONLY, NOT TO
BIRTH From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions* swell, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour: good alone Is good, without a name; vileness is so:t 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 foregoer: the mere word's a slave, Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave, A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, Where dust and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed.
ACT III. SELF-ACCUSATION OF TOO GREAT LOVE. Poor Lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event of the non-sparing war and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? 0 you
leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air, That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord! Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff, that do hold hint to it;
Good is good independent of any worldly distinction and so is vileness vile.
And, though I kill him not, I am the cauffy
A MAID'S HONOUR. The honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.
ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, e are not the things they go under:t many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not advise you farther; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no farther danger known, than the modesty which is so lost.
CUSTOM OF SEDUCERS.
They are not the things for which their names would make them pass.