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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

have sung:

With an unskilful yet a willing voice,
To bring my girl asleep. O my Virginia !
When we begun to be, begun our woes;
Increasing still, as dying life still grows.
Thus I surrender her into the court
Of all the gods.

[Kills her.


O my lord, lie not idle:
The chiefest action for a man of great

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.
Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds:
In the trenches for the soldier; in the

wakeful study For the scholar; in the furrows of the

sea For men of our profession; of all which Arise and spring up honour.



Ferdinand. I do beseech you,
Chiefly that I might

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 !



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


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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.


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,

my lord,

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

thou art?

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

And they shall be themselves.

Ari. I 'll fetch them, sir.
Pro. Ye elves of h lls, brooks, standing

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.

Juliet. FAREWELL!-God knows when

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'

joints ?

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;

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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.


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



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,

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