One of their kind, that relish all as sharply.
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the
quick,
Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my sury
Do I take part: the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
The sole Grift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further.
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and
groves;
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him,
When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that
By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters though you be) I have bedimm'd
The noon-tide sun, callid forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and risted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt. the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command,
Have wak’d their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth
By my so potent art.
SENSES RETURNING.
The charm dissolves apace,
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.
O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir,
To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act: (blood.
Thou’rt pinch'd for’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and
You brother mine, that entertained ambition,
Expell'd remorse* and nature; who, with Sebastian,
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kill'd our king; I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art!—Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores,
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them,
That yet looks on me, or would know me.
ARIEL'S SONG.
Where the bee sucks, there suck 1:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back, I do fly,
After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
IF Music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die. -
That strain again; it had a dying fall:
0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.
NATURAL AFFECTION ALLIED TO LOVE.
0, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To
рау.
this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft,
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,
* Pity, or tenderness of heart.
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and filled, (Her sweet perfections) with one self king!
I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the wave,
So long as I could see.
Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
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 reverberatet hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! 0, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
Disguise. I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnants enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-falseş
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
* Cantos, verses.
+ Echoing. Dexterous, ready fiend. § Fair deceiver.
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For such as we are made of, such we be.
Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
For, such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd.
THE WOMAN SHOULD BE YOUNGEST IN LOVE.
Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,
Than women's are.
CHARACTER OP AN OLD SONG.
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain:
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
Are the free maids, that weave their thread with
bones,
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age. I
SONG.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yow,
0, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
* Lace-makers.
+ Simple truth
Times of simplicity.
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, 0, where
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there.
CONCEALED LOVF.. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek; she pin’d in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
This fellow's wise enough to play the fool;
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time;
And like the haggard,* check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly fallen, quite taint their wit.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugret all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause: But, rather, reason thus with reason setter: Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
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