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VIRGINIUS AND HIS DAUGHTER.
Duchess. FAREWELL, Cariola. I pray thee look thou giv'st my little
boy Some syrup for his cold ; and let the girl Say her prayers ere she sleep.-Now what
you please; What death? Bosola. Strangling. Here are your exe
cutioners. Duch. I forgive them. The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the
lungs, Would do as much as they do.
Bos. Does not death fright you ?
Duch. Who would be afraid on't, Knowing to meet such excellent com
pany In th' other world. Bos.
Yet methinks The manner of your death should much
afflict you; This cord should terrify you. Duch.
Not a whit. What would it pleasure me to have my
throat cut With diamonds ? or to be smothered With cassia ? or to be shot to death with
pearls ? I know, death hath ten thousand several
doors For men to take their exits; and 'tis found They go on such strange geometrical
hinges, You may open them both ways: any way:
(for Heaven sake) So I were out of your whispering: tell my
brothers That I perceive, death (now I'm well
awake) Best gift is, they can give or I can take. I would fain put off my last woman's
Virginius. Ere you speak, One parting farewell let me borrow of you To take of my Virginia.
Appius. Pray, take your course. Vir. Farewell, my sweet Virginia: never,
never Shall I taste fruit of the most blessed
hope I had in thee. Let me forget the thought Of thy most pretty infancy: when first, Returning from the wars, I took delight To rock thee in my target; when my girl Would kiss her father in his burgonet Of glittering steel hung 'bout his armed
neck, And, viewing the bright metal, smile to see Another fair Virginia smile on thee; When I first taught thee how to go, to
speak; And (when my wounds have smarted) I
With an unskilful yet a willing voice,
O my lord, lie not idle:
spirit Is never to be out of action. We should
think The soul was never put into the body, Which has so many rare and curious
Of mathematical motion, to stand still.
wakeful study For the scholar; in the furrows of the
sea For men of our profession; of all which Arise and spring up honour.
set it in my prayers, — What is your name?
Miranda, Miranda.-O my father! I have broke your hest to say so. Fer.
Admired Miranda ! Indeed, the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world! Full many
a lady I have eyed with best regard; and many a
time The harmony of their tongues hath into
bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several
virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she
owed, And put it to the foil: but you, O you ! So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best. Mira.
I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, my own; nor have I More that I may call men, than you, good
friend, And my dear father: how features are
abroad I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty. (The jewel in my dower), I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's
precepts I therein do forget. Fer.
I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king
(I would, not so!); and would no more
endure This wooden slavery, than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth.—Hear my
soul speak — The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake, Am I this patient log-man. Mira.
Do you love me? Fer. O heaven! O earth! bear witness
to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true: if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you. Mira.
I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of.
Prospero (aside). Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heaven rain
grace On that which breeds between them! Fer.
Wherefore weep you? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare
not offer What I desire to give; and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is
trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful
cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. Fer.
My mistress, dearest, And I thus humble ever. Mira.
My husband, then? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my
hand. Mira. And mine, with my heart in 't:
and now farewell, Till half an hour hence. Fer.
A thousand thousand !
INSTABILITY OF LIFE.
Prospero. THESE our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air ; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such
stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
PROSPERO ABJURES HIS ART.
Before the cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and
Ariel. Prospero. Now does my project gather
to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey;
and time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the
day? Ariel. On the sixth hour; at which time,
You said our work should cease.
I did say so, When first I raised the tempest. Say, my
spirit, How fares the king and 's followers ? Ari.
Confined together In the same fashion as you gave in charge; Just as you left them: all prisoners, sir, In the lime-grove which weather-fends
your cell; They cannot budge till you release. The
king, His brother, and yours, abide all three dis
tracted; And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly Him, that you termed, sir, “The good old
lord Gonzılo:" His tears run down his beard, like winter's
drops From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly
works them, That if you now beheld them, your affec
tions Would become tender.
Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. Pro.
And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a
feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Passion as they, be kindlier moved than
Though with their high wrongs I am struck
to the quick, Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my
fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue, than in vengeance: they being
penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go, release them,
Ariel. My charins I'll break, their senses I'll re
Ari. I 'll fetch them, sir.
lakes, and groves; And ye, that on the sands with printless
foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly
him, When he comes back; you demy-puppets,
that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets
make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose
pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms; that re
joice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid (Weak masters though ye be) I have be
dimmed Thenoontide sun, called forth the mutinous
winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured
vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling
thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout
oak With his own bolt: the strong-based pro
montory Have I made shake; and by the spurs
plucked up The pine and cedar : graves, at my com
mand, Have waked their sleepers; oped, and let
them forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have required Some heavenly music (which even now I
do) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his
shroud ? And in this rage, with some great kinsman's
bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate
brains? Oh, look ! methinks I see my cousin's
ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit bis
body Upon a rapier's point :-stay, Tybalt,
stay!Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
[Throws herself on the bed.
we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my
veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life : I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse !-what should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, phial. — What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morn
ing? No, no ;-this shall forbid it ;-lie thou
there. (Laying down a dagger. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath ministered to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dis
honoured, Because he married me before to Romeo ? I fear it is; and yet, methinks, it should
not, For he hath still been tried a holy man: I will not entertain so bad a thought. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? There's a fearful
point Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air
breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo
comes ? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the rror of the place, As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the
bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed ; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in
earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where as they
say, At some hours in the night spirits re
sort, Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, So early waking, --what with loathsome
smells, And shrieks like mandrakes't out of the
earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run
mad,Oh, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environèd with all these hideous fears ? And madly play with my forefathers'
UNEQUAL LOVE. Lafeu. FAREWELL, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father.
[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. Helen. Oh, were that all! I think not
on my father; And these great tears grace his remem
brance more Than those I shed for him. What was he
like? I have forgot him; my imagination Carries no favour in 't but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me. In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. Th'ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated with the lion Must die for love! 'Twas pretty, though
a plague, To see him every hour, to set and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his
curls In our heart's table; heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour!
GIVE me that ring. Bertram. I'll lend it thee, my dear; but
have no power To give it from me. Dia.
Will you not, my lord? Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our
house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the
world In me to lose.
Dia. Mine honour's such a ring; My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the
world In me to lose. Thus your own proper
wisdom Brings in the champion, honour, on my
part, Against your vain assault.
THE TRIBUNES REPROACH THE FICKLENESS OF THE PEOPLE.
Marcellus. WHEREFORE rejoice? What
conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot
wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than
senseless things! Oh, you hard hearts, you cruel men of
Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and
oft Have you climbed up to walls and battle
ments, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney.
tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have
sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of
Rome; And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made a universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire, And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's
blood? Begone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. Flavius. Go, go, good countrymen,
and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your
THE EVE OF PHILIPPI.
Enter Lucius with the gown. Brutus. Give me the gown. Where is
thy instrument? Lucius. Here, in the tent.
Bru. What, thou speakest drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art
o'er-watched. Call Claudius, and some other of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. Luc. Varro and Claudius !
Enter Varro and Claudius. Varro. Calls my lord? Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and
sleep; It may be I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius. Var. So please you, we will stand, and
watch your pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good
sirs; It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought
for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.
[Servants lie down. Luc. I was sure your lordship did not
give it me. Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am
much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or
two? Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't please you. Bru.
It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art wil
ling. Luc. It is my duty, sir. Bru. I should not urge thy duty past
thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of
rest. Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. Bru. It was well done, and thou shalt
sleep again; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee.
[Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune. O murderous
slumber, Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,