Among the buzzing pleased multitude :
Where every something being blent* together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express'd, and not express'd.
Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak;
and therefore speak no more
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors.
The Boasting of Youth.
I'll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accouter'd like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
And speak, between the change of man and boy,
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays,
Like a fine bragging youth and tell quaint lies,
How honourable ladies sought my love,
Which I denying, they fell sick and died :
I could not do with all ;-then I'll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them;
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
That men shall swear, I have discontinued school
Above a twelvemonth.
O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words: and I do know
A many fools that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksey word
Defy the matter.
The Jew's Reason for Revenge
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour ;* is it answer'd?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping+ pig ;
Some that are mad, if they behold a cat ;
And others, when the bagpipes sings i' the nose,
Cannot contain their urine for affection,
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes, or loaths. Now, for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
Why he, a swollen bagpipe ; but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame,
As to offend, himself being offended;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?
Mercy.
The quality of mercy is not strain'd ;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
*Particular fancy, † Crying. + Prejudice.
But mercy is above the scepter'd sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom; it is still her use,
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty.
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 yatines* of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims: Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
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;
*A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist.
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any 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 naught so stockish, hard and full of rage,
But music for time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with 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 crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought,
No better a musician than the wren,
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awaked!
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.
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
A recluse Life.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun;
For aye* to be in shady cloisters 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:
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
True Love ever crossed.
For aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in the blood;
Or else misgraffed in respect of years:
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends:
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentany+ as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
+ Momentary.
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