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The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
shows the force of temporal power,
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
MOONLIGHT. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist.
But in his motion like an angel sings,
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest
gaze, By the sweet power of music: Therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods, Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature: The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd by concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.
A GOOD DEED COMPARED. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
NOTHING GOOD OUT OF SEASON.
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick, It looks a little paler; 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
A FATHER'S AUTHORITY.
A RECLUSE LIFE. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
you eld not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun; For aye* to be in shady cloister mew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
TRUE LOVE EVER CROSSED.
For aught that ever I could read,
ASSIGNATION. I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; By his best arrow with the golden head; By the simplicity of Venus' doves; By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, When the false Trojan under sail was seen; By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke;In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
When Phæbe doth behold
wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a silly foal: And sometime lurk I in the gossip's bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crabt; And, when she drink, against her lips I bob, And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; And then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe; Sport
+ Wild apple.