So far upon a man as to compel him
To court a thing that hath nor sense, nor being,
Is unto me a miracle.
Maflinger's Duke of Milan I have fat with him in his cabbin a day together,
Yet not a fyllable exchang'd between us;
Sigh he did often; as if inward grief
And melancholy at that inftant, would
Choke up his vital fpirits: and now and then
A tear, or two, as in derifion of
The toughness of his rugged temper, would
Fall on his hollow cheeks; which but once felt,
A fudden flash of fury did dry up.
Mainger's Unnatural Combat.
The root, as well of every apifh frenzy,
Laughter and mirth, as dullness.
John Ford's Lover's Melancholy.
Is not as you conceive, an indifpofition
Of body; but the mind's difeafe: fo extafy,
Fantastick dotage, madness, frenzy, rupture,
Of meer imagination differ partly
From melancholy; which is briefly this:
A meer commotion of the mind, o'ercharg'd
With fear and forrow; firft begat i' th' brain,
The feat of reafon; and from thence, deriv'd
As fuddenly into the heart, the feat
See the ftrange working of dull melancholy,
Whofe droffy drying the feeble brain,
Corrupts the fenfe, deludes the intellect :
And in the foul's fair table falfly graves
Whole fquadrons of fantastical chimeras,
And thousand vain imaginations :
Making fome think their heads as big as horses ;
Some that are dead; fome that are turn'd to wolves; As now it makes him think himself all glass.
Which fome define is weaknefs in a lord ;
And in a lady pride or fullennefs;
But in a wife man, 'tis flat foolery.
This ledger-book, lies in the brain behind,
Like Janus eye, which in his poll was fet:
The layman's tables; ftore-houfe of the mind;
Which doth remember much, and much forget.
Here fenfe's apprehenfion, end doth take;
As when a stone is in the water cast,
One circle doth another circle make;
Till the laft circle touch the bank at last.
Sir John Davies,
To thefe high pow'rs a store-houfe doth pertain,
Where they all arts, and gen'ral reafons lay;
Which in the foul, ev'n after death remain,
And no Lethaan flood can wash away.
Ay, thou poor ghoft; while mem'ry holds a feat
In this diftracted globe; remember thee-
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All faws of books, all forms, all preffures paft,
That youth and obfervation copy'd there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmixt with bafer matter.
Oh, it comes o'er my memory,
As doth the raven o'er th' infected house,
Stand, whilft I liv'd fo long, that it might rot;
That should fall down, but she be ne'er forgot.
Dekker's First Part of the Honeft Whore.
1. I remember you not.
2. Why we fupt with you last night, fir!
Oh cry your mercy; 'tis fo long ago,
I had quite forgot you; I must be forgiven:
Acquaintance, dear fociety, fuits and things
Do fo flow to me; that had I not the better mem'ry,
'Twould be a wonder I fhould know myself:
Efteem is made of fuch a dizzy metal;
I have receiv'd of many, gifts o'er night,
Whom I have forgot ere morning: meeting the men,
I wish'd them to remember me again;
They do fo: then if I forget again,
I know what help'd before, that will help then :
This is my courfe; for mem'ry I've been told
Twenty preferves; the best I find, is gold.
Middletons's Michaelmas Term.
1. No man cares for anameftes, or remembrance.
2. Yes, a company of ftudious paper worms,
And lean fcholars, and niggardly fcraping
Ufurers; and a troop of heart-hating
Envious perfons, and those canker-stomach'd
Spiteful creatures, that furnish up common
Place-books with other mens faults,
Been in thofe golden days when Saturn reign'd,
That if a man receiv'd a benefit
Of another; I was presently fent for,
To put him in mind of it: but now, in
These iron afternoons, fave your friend's life,
And oblivion will be more familiar
Not to remember, where they hid their gold.
From age fuch art of memory we learn,
'To forget nothing, which is our concern:
Their intereft, no prieft, nor forcerer
Forgets, nor lawyer, nor philofopher;
No understanding, memory can want,
Where wisdom, ftudious induftry doth plant:
Nor does it only in the active live,
But in the quiet and contemplative.
Taught me to love my mis'ries, and forgive
All my misfortunes: I'll at leaft forget 'em.
We will revive thofe times, and in our memories
Preferve, and still keep fresh, like flowers in water,
Those happier days; when at our eyes our fouls
Kindled their mutual fires, their equal beams
Shot and return'd, 'till link'd, and twin'd in one,
They chain'd our hearts together.
Had memory been loft with innocence,
We had not known the fentence, nor th' offence: "Twas his chief punishment, to keep in ftore, The fad remembrance what he was before.
MERC r.
Mercy is not itself, that oft looks fo;
Pardon is ftill the nurse of fecond woe.
Shakespear's Meafure for Measure. Why, all the fouls that were, were forfeit once; And he, that might the 'vantage best have took, Found out the remedy. How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgement, fhould But judge you, as you are? oh, think on that! And mercy then will breath within your lips, Like man new made.
'Tis neceffary he should die :
Nothing emboldens fin fo much as mercy.
Mercy but murthers, pard'ning those that kill.
Shakespear's Romeo and Juliet.
The quality of mercy is not ftrain'd;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heav'n,
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blefs'd;
It bleffeth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightieft; it becomes
The thro'ned monarch better than his crown:
His fcepter fhews the force of temp'ral pow'r,
The attribute to awe and majefty,
Wherein doth fit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this fcepter'd fway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly pow'r doth then fhew likeft God's,
When mercy seasons juftice.
Shakespear's Merchant of Venice.
If there be nothing worthy you can fee
Of graces, or your mercy, here in me,
Spare your own goodness yet; and be not great
In will and power, only to defeat:
God, and the good, know to forgive, and save;
The ignorant, and fools, no pity have.
I will ftand arraign'd, and caft, to be
The fubject of your grace in pard'ning me;
And, ftil'd your mercy's creature, will live more
Your honour now, than your difgrace before:
Think it was frailty, mistress, think me man;
Think that yourself like heav'n forgive me can:
Where weakness doth offend, and virtue grieve;
There greatness takes a glory to relieve.
Johnfon's Underwoods. Dispense sometime with ftern severity;
Make not the laws ftill traps to apprehend;
Win grace upon the bad with clemency;
Mercy may mend, whom malice made offend.
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