Rom. And I'll still stay to have thee still forget, Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. Rom. I would I were thy bird. Jul. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill with much cherishing. Good night, good night: parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night, till it be morrow. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest. Hence will I to my ghostly friar's close cell, [Exit Romeo and Juliet.] SOLITUDE PREFERRED TO A COURT LIFE, AND THE ADVANTAGES OF ADVERSITY. 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 season's difference; as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; 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, Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! &c. &c. [As You Like It.] LIFE AND DEATH WEIGHED. To be, or not to be, that is the question- To sleep!-perchance to dream!-ay, there's the rub; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, FEAR OF DEATH. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; [Hamlet.] And blown with restless violence round about To what we fear of death. [Measure for Measure.} END OF ALL EARTHLY GLORIES. Our revels now are ended: these our actors, [The Tempest.] OTHELLO'S RELATION OF HIS COURTSHIP TO THE SENATE. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approv'd good masters; That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little blest with the soft phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore shall I little grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet by your gracious patience I will a round unvarnished tale deliver Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms, What conjuration; and what mighty magic (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) I won his daughter with. Her father lov'd me, oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it: Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach; And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history. Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my lot to speak, such was the process; And of the cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. Those things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline; But still the house affairs would draw her thence;, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She swore-in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man:-she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story; And that would woo her. On this hint I spake; DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT IN A CAMP. From camp to camp, thro' the foul womb of night, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch. With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And the third hour of drowsy morning name. The confident and over-lusty French For the low-rated English play at dice, And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp So tediously away. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate U The morning's danger: and their gesture sad So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold For forth he goes and visits all his host, How dread an army hath enrounded him; His liberal eye doth give to every one, [Henry the Fifth.] THE BLESSINGS OF A SHEPHERD'S LIFE. 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, So many hours must I tend my flock; So many days my ewes have been with young; To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, |