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Until a king be by; and then his state
Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house.
Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect : Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner. Silence bestows the virtue on it, madam.
Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
THE EXILED DUKE'S PHILOSOPHY.
As you like it, act ii. scene 1.
As you like it, act ii. scene 2. Adam. But do not so : I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown.
1 A belief of Shakespeare's age.
Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed,
Ori. O good old man, how well in thee appears
Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,
Richard III, act i. scene 4.
Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clarence. 0, I have passed a miserable night,
Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you tell me.
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life. 0, then began the tempest to my soul. I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud—“What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?” And so he vanish’d. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud“ Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury ; Seize on him, furies, take him to your
torments !” With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howlèd in mine ears
1 Prince Edward, the son of Henry VI
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
Clar. Ah ! Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites 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 prithee, Brakenbury, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Hamlet, act i. scene 3. And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, Bear 't, that the opposèd may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express’d in fancy ; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man; And they in France, of the best rank and station, Are of a most select and generous chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all, -to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee !
Hamlet, act iii, scene 3. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven! It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, A brother's murder !-- Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will ; My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, But to confront the visage of offence ! And what's in prayer, but this twofold force, To be forestallèd, ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd, being down! Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, 0, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder ! That cannot be; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence ? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; And oft ’tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above : There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature; and we ourselves compellid, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? What rests ? Try what repentance can : what can it not? Yet what can it, when one can not repent ? O wretched state ! O bosom black as death! O limèd soul, that struggling to be free, Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay ! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe : All may be well.
HENRY'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.
Henry IV. part ii. act iii. scene 1. How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O gentle sleep,