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And yetrun'st toward him still: Thou art not noble;
ath we fear, That makes these ouds all even.
THE TERRORS OF DEATH MOST IN APPREHENSION.
0, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, * Affects, affections. + Leprous eruption. Old age.
Lest thou a feverish life shouldst entertain,
RESOLUTION FROM A SENSE OF HONOUR.
Why give you me this shame? Think
I can a resolution fetch
THE HYPOCRISY OF ANGELO.
THE TERRORS OF DEATH.
Death is a fearful thing.
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
* Shut up
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
VIRTUE AND GOODNESS.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
A BAWD. The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live: Do thou, but think What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend.
Take, oh take, those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
But my kisses bring again,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
Are of those that April wears:
heart first set free,
GREATNESS SUBJECT TO CENSURE. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes, Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report : Run with these false and most contrarious quests Upon thy doings! thousand scapes* of wit Make thee the father of their idle dream, And rack thee in their fancies.
As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour When it lies starkly t in the traveller's bones.
ACT V. CHARACTER OF AN ARCH HYPOCRITE. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion (sible That I am touch'd with madness: make not imposThat which but seems unlike; 'tis not impossible, But one,
the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, As Angelo; even so may Angelo, In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, * Sallies.
+ Stiffly. #Habits and characters of office.
Be an arch-villain: believe it, royal prince,
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper; And other of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in
way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
THE WORLD'S TRUE VALUE.
Let me play the Fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than
ħeart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish?