The means of weakness and debility; ORL. O good old man; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, AS YOU LIKE IT, ▲. 2, s. 3. THE BABBLER. A GENTLEMAN that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, that he will stand to in a month. ROMEO AND JULIET, A. 2, s. 4. THE BALANCE. 'Tis in ourselves, that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens; to the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it steril with idleness, or manur'd with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call-love, to be a sect or scion. OTHELLO, A. 1, s. 3. THE BEAUTIFUL IN ART. How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good? I'll say of it, Lives in these touches, livelier than life. TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 1. THE BIGOTRY OF VIRTUE A BRAVE fellow!-he keeps his tides well. Timon, Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill. Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner, Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 2. THE BIRD'S COURAGE SOMETIMES GREATER THAN MAN'S. WISDOM! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion, and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. МАСВЕТИ, л. 4, 5. 2. THE BOURNE FROM WHENCE NO IN TRAVELLER RETURNS. peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here, are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. TITUS ANDRONICUS, A. 1, s. 2. THE BROKEN-HEARTED SOLDIER. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, O Antony! Antony! ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, A. 4, s. 9. THE BROTHER AND SISTER. CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort? ISABELLA. Why, as all comforts are; most good in deed: Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, To-morrow you set on. CLAUD. Is there no remedy? ISAB. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. CLAUD. But is there any ? CLAUD. Perpetual durance ? ISAB. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determin'd scope. CLAUD. But in what nature? ISAB. In such a one as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave CLAUD. you naked. Let me know the point. ISAB. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension; |