The other, though unfinish'l, yet sc famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overihrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little;
And, to add greater honours to his age
Chan man could give him, he died, fearing God

ACT V.

MALICIOUS MEX.
Men, that make
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment,
Darc bite the best.

A CHURCHMAN.

Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman, better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again
Cast none away.

INHUMANITY.

'Tis a cruelty, To load a falling man.

ARCHBISHOP CRANMER'S PROPHECY Let me speak, sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be (But sew now living can behold that goodness,) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:

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She shall be lov’d, and fear'd; Her own shall bless

her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows

with her: In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phænix, Her ashes new create another heir As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark

ness) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour, and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him:- -Our childrca's

children Shall see this, and bless heaven.

15

OF

SHAKS PEARE.

PART III.

TRAGEDIES.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

ACT I. LOVE THE NOBLENESS OF LIFE. LET Rome in Tiber melt! and the wide arch of the rang’d empire fall! Here is my space; Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life, Is, to do thus; when such a mutual pair,

[Embri.cing And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind, On pain of punishment, the world to weet. We stand up peerless, Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony Will be himself. Ant.

But stirr'd by Cleopatra,Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours.

ANTONY'S VICES AND VIRTUES. I must not think, there are Evils enough to darken all his goodness His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary, Rather than purchas'd;t what he cannot change, Than what he chooses. • Know.

Procured by his own fault

Cæs. You are too indulgent: Let us grant it is not Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this becomes

him, (As his composure must be rare indeed, Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must

Antony
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness.* If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surseits, and the dryness of his bones,
Call on hims for't: but, to confound such time,
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state, and ours, 'tis to be chid
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to thirir present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.
Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassals.& When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did farne follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddlefi
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did

deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou browsed’st; on the Alps
It is reported, thou did'st eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on: and all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now,)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.

Levity. † Visit him. # Consume. $ Feastings: in the old copy it is vaissailes, i. e. vassals. || Urine. T Stagnant, slimy water.

ON

THE

ABSENCE

CLEOPATRA'S SOLICITUDE

ANTONY O Charmian, Where thinkst thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou

mov'st? The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm And burgonet* of men.-He's speaking now, Or murmuring Where's my serpent of Old Nile? For so he calls me: Now I feed myself With most delicious poison:-Think on me, That am with Phæbus' amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cesar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow: There would he anchor his aspect, and die With his looking on his life.

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ACT II.

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

We, ignorant of ourselves, Begin osten our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.

DESCRIPTION OF CLEOPATRA SAILING DOWN THE

CYDNUS.

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn’d on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were

silver; Which to the tune of Nutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description: she did lie