I feel my heart new opened: O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
DESCRIPTION OF CLEOPATRA SAILING DOWN THE CYDNUS.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description; she did lie
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,)
O'er picturing that Venus, where we see,
The fancy outwork nature; on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse colour'd fans, whose wind did seem,
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.*
EARLY RISING THE WAY TO EMINENCE.
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
* Added to the warmth they were intended to diminish.
His nature is too noble for the world:
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth;
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent,
And being angry, does forget that ever
He heard the name of death.
SCENE. A Bedchamber; in one part of it a trunk.
Imogen reading in her bed; a Lady attending.
Imo. Mine eyes are weak :-
Fold down the leaf where I have left; to bed:
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly.
To your protection I commend me, gods!
From fairies, and the tempters of the night,
Guard me, beseech ye!
[Sleeps. Iachimo, from the trunk.
Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest: our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes,* ere he waken'd
*It was anciently the custom to strew chambers with rushes.
The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed! fresh lily!
And whiter than the sheets! that I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss!-rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't.-'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
Bows towards her; and would underpeep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights; now canopied
Under these windows: white and azure, laced
With blue of heaven's own tinet.*-But my design
To note the chamber :-I will write all down:-
i.e. The white skin laced with blue veins.
Such and such pictures;-there the window-such
The adornment of her bed ;-the arras* figures,
Why, such and such:-and the contents o' the story,-
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying!-come off, come off;←
[Taking off her bracelet.
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more.-To what end?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The Tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up :-I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! that dawning
May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
IMPATIENCE OF A WIFE TO MEET HER HUSBAND.
O, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven; read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ?-Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,-
O, let me bate,-but not like me :-yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind;-O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond), say, and speak thick,*
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense), how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: and, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven. But, first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excuse :- -but first, how get hence;
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?
One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers, Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i' the clock's behalf,-but this is foolery :
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She'll home to her father and provide me, presently, A riding suit: no costlier than would fit
Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.
Crowd one word on another, as fast as possible.
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