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O then began the tempest to my soul !
noise I trembling wak’d; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell: Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to bear you tell it,
Clar. Ah, Brakenbury! I have done those things, That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake! and see how he requits me; O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee , But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : O spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children! I prytbee , Brakenbury, stay by me: My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
CHAP. X X II I.
then I see Queen Mab hath been with you, She is the Fancy's midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman;
love : On courtier's knees, that dream on court'sies
straight : O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose , And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling the parson as he lies asleep; Then dreams he of another benefice. Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, or breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes; And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again.
SHAKESPEARE. CHA P. X X I V.
Apothecary. I do remember an Apothecary, And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks;
Ode to Evening I,
.F aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales, O Nymph reserv'd, while now the bright hair'd sun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede ethereal wove,
O’erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrillshrieks flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
Now teach me, maid compos'd ,
To breathe some softened strain, Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As musing slow, I hail,
Thy genial, lov'd return!
The fragrant Honirs, and Elves
Who slept in flow'rs the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with
sedge, And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car, Then lead, calm Votress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath or some time-hallowed pile ,
Or up-land fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam. But when chill blust'ring winds or driving rain , Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires , And hears the simple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil. . While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he
wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light: While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; Or Winter , yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
CHA P. X X V I.
Ode to Spring Sweet
weer daughter of a rough and stormy sire, Hoar Winter's blooming child : delightful Spring!
Whose unshorn locks with leaves
And swelling buds are crown'd; From the green islands of eternal youth, (Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever-springing
O thou whose powerful voice
And thro the stormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.
songs and festal rites, and joy to rove
And vales and dewy lawns,
Of him the favour'd youth
That prompts their whisperid sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,
And silent dews that swell,
The milky ear's green stem,
Salute the blowing flowers.
And watch with patient eye