To him that did but yesterday suspire,* There was not such a gracioust creature born. And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. K. Phil. You are as fond of grief as of your child. Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; DESPONDENCY. There's nothing in this world can make me joy: ARTHUR'S PATHETIC SPEECHES TO Hubert. Methinks, nobody should be sad but I: * Breathe. Graceful. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And with my hand at midnight held your head; Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? If Heaven be pleased that you, must use me ill, Why, then you must.- Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Alas! what need you be so boist❜rous rough? Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. Oh, Heaven !-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. PERFECTION ADMITS OF NO ADDITION. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, DESPAIR. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, A MAN IN TEARS. Let me wipe off this honourable dew, But this effusion of such manly drops, This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, And with a great heart heave away this storm: APPROACH OF DEATH. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touched corruptibly; and his pure brain ENGLAND INVINCIBLE IF UNANIMOUS. England never did (nor never shall) Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Naught shall make us rue If England to itself do rest but true. KING RICHARD II. REPUTATION. The purest treasure mortal time afford, COWARDICE. That which in mean men we entitle-patience, THOUGHTS INEFFECTUAL TO MODERATE AFFLICTION. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, SUN-RISING AFTER A DARK NIGHT. Know'st thou not That when the searching eye of Heaven is hid |