Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads. I have more care to stay, than will to go. Come death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.- How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day. Juliet's Resolution.
O bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring Or shut me nightly in a charnel house; [bears; O'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a dead man in his shroud- Things that to hear them told have made me tremble;
And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. Juliet's Soliloquy on drinking the Potion. Farewell-God knows when we shall meet again!
I have a faint cold fear thrills thro' 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?
Must I of force be married to the county? No, no! this shall forbid it-lie thou there. [Pointing to a dagger. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd, to have me dead; Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd, 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, [in, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes 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 terror of the place- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies fest ring in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort- Alack! alack! is it not like that I
So early waking-what with loathsome smells; And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad- O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Invironed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 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 desp'rate brains? O look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Secking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point!-Stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
[She throws herself on the Bed. Joy and Mirth turned to their contraries. All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral: Our instruments, to melancholy bells; Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change: Our bridal flow'rs serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary, Romeo's Description of, and Discourse with, the Apothecary.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means:--O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men. I do remember an apothecary— And hereabouts he dwells-whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins, Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said- An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. O, this same thought did but fore-run my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house: Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!
Ap. Who calls so loud? Rom. Come hither, man-I see that thou art poor;
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison; such soon-speeding geer, As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead; And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath As violently, as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Man- tua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.
Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretch
edness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks; Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes; Upon thy back hangs ragged misery; The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome world | Here's to my love! O true apothecary!
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none- Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Romeo and Paris.
Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Mon- tague;
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death? Condemned villain! I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me, for thou must die. Rom I must indeed; and therefore came I hither,
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man; Fly hence and leave me think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Heap not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury. O, be gone! By Heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself.
Par. I do defy thy conjurations, And do attach thee as a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. [They fight, Paris falls. Par. O, I am slain! if thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. Rom. In faith, I will :-let me peruse this
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris. What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so ? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so ?-O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! Romeo's last Speech over Juliet in the Vault. my love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.- Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favor can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin!-Ah, dear Juliet! Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous; And that the lean, abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I will still stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again; here, here, will I remain, [here With worms that are thy chambermaids-O, Will I set up my everlasting rest; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!— Come, bitter conduct! come, unsav'ry guide! Thou desp'rate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick, weary bark!
Thy drugs are quick.-Thus with a kiss I die.
THE painting is almost the natural man ; For since dishonor traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencil'd figures are Even such as they give out.
The Grace of a Cynic Philosopher. Immortal gods! I crave no pelf; pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping; Or a keeper, with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen! Amen! so fall to't, Rich men sin, and I eat root. A faithful Steward.
So the gods bless me,
When all our offices have been opprest With riotous feeders; when our vaults have
Do what they would; are sorry-you are honorable
But yet they could have wish'd-they know not-but
Something hath been amissa noble nature May catch a wrench-would all were well- 'tis pity-
And, so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps, and cold moving nods, They froze me into silence.
Tim. You gods reward them!- Pr'ythee, man, look cheerly: these old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again towards earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. Against Duelling.
Your words have took such pains, as if they labor'd
To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling
Upon the head of valor; which, indeed, Is valor misbegot, and came into the world, When sects and factions were but newly born. He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs [carelessly; His outsides; wear them, like his raiment,
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
Without the Walls of Athens.
Timon's Execrations on the Athenians. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves! Dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incon- tinent !
Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity! Do't in your parents' eyes! Bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! Bound servants, steal!
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law! Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, [men, And yet confusion live!-Plagues incident to Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke!--Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth; That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! breath infect breath; That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town!
As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air,
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone.
And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. Timon to Alcibiades. Go on-here's gold-go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honor'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit
It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps,
That thro' the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ; But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe, [mercy. Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse. Swear against ob- jects;
Put armor on thine ears and on thine eyes, Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy sol
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! speak not, begone. To the Courtezans. Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's That he may never more false title plead, [voice, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the gen'ral weal: make curl'd- pate ruffians bald,
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you.
Timon's Reflections on the Earth. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Whose womb unineasurable, and infinite breast Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puit, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven, Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield hini, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root: Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb! Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Hath to the marble mansion all above Never presented!-O, a root-dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, [draughts, Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips!
Timon's Discourse with Apemantus. Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected: A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?
This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatt'rers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatt'rer now, and seek to thrive By that which hath undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus ; Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thon wealth again, Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. [self. Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myApem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being
A madman so long, now a fool: what, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd
Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd, Answer mere nature-bid them flatter thee; O! thou shalt find-
Tim. Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favor never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself
In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts
At duty, more than I could frame employment; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak-have with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare, For every storm that blows:-1, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burthen. Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? [given? They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou If thou wilt curse,-thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she-beggar, and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! begone. If thou hadst not been born the worst of men; Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. On Gold.
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the gold. 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate
[springs; Within this mile break forth an hundred The oaks bear masts, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays More than you rob: take wealth and lives to- gether;
Do villany, do, since you profess to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From gen'ral excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rashness, Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man-mistake me not-but one; No more, I pray and he is a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind, And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck.
Wrong and Insolence.
No breathless wrong
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease; And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear, and horrid flight.
The birds chant melody on every bush; The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit;
And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once- Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise: And after conflict-such as was suppos'd The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave- We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber! Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodi- Be unto us as is a nurse's song [ous birds,
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. Vale, a dark and melancholy one described. A barren detested vale, you see, it is: The trees, tho' summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss, and baleful misseltoe. Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it, Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. A Ring in a dark Pit.
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole; Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead inan's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit. Young Lady playing on a Lute and singing. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them; [life: He would not then have touch'd them for his Or had he heard the heavenly harmony, Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. A Lady's Tongue cut out.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! A person in Despair compared to one on a Rock, &'c.
For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; [wave, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
Tears compared to Dew on a Lily. When I did name her brothers, then fresh
Lo, by thy side, where rape and murderstands; Now give some surauce that thou art revenge, Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner, And whirl along with thee about the globe. Provide thee two proper palfries, black as jet, To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, And find out murderers in their guilty caves: And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel Trot, like a servile footman, all day long; Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, Until his very downfall in the sea.
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