페이지 이미지

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast !

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest !
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

Act 2, Sc. 2.

Friar Laurence. O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities;
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;

Act 2, Sc. 3.

Friar. Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ;

And vice sometime 's by action dignified. —Act 2, Sc. 3.

Friar. Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.

Act 2, Sc. 3.

Rom. I am the very pink of courtesy.-Act 2, Sc. 4.


Love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills :
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

Act 2, Sc. 5.


The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in its own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite :- Act 2, Sc. 6.

Mer. Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat.

Act 3, Sc. I.

Jul. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,


Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.-Act 3, Sc. 2.

Friar. Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.--Act 3, Sc. 3.

Rom. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.

Act 3, Sc. 5.

Jul. It is the lark that sings so out of tune,

Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division ;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes ;
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.

Act 3, Sc. 5.

Jul. 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 bears ;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O’er-cover'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.

Act 4, Sc. I.

Cap. Death lies on her, like an untimely frost,

Act 4, Sc. 5. Rom. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne.

Act 5, Sc. 1. Rom. I do remember an apothecary,–

And hereabouts he dwells, —which 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 stuffd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped 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 forerun 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 !--Act 5, Sc. I.
Apothecary. My poverty, but not my will, consents.

Act 5, Sc. 1.


how may

Rom. How oft when men are at the point of death

Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death: 0,

Call this a lightning? O my love ! my wife !
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
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.

Act 5, Sc. 3. TIMON OF ATHENS.

Poet. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: the fire i the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle me
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. — Act I, Sc. I.

Apem. Art not a poet?
Poet. Yes.

Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow.

Poet. That's not feigned; he is so.

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.

Act I, Sc. I.


Apem. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner,

Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire:
This and my food are equals; there's no odds :
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

Apemantus' grace.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf ;
I pray for no man but myself :
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath
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. So fall to 't:
Rich men sin, and I eat root. -Act I, Sc. 2.

bond ;

Timon. What need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of them ?-Act I, Sc. 2.

Apen. Like madness is the glory of this life,

As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that 's not depraved or depraves ?
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves
Of their friends' gift ?
I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me: ’t has been done ;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Act I, Sc. 2.

Flavius. Happier is he that has no friend to feed,

Than such that do in enemies exceed.—Act I, Sc. 2.

Apern. O! that men's ears should be

To counsel deaf, but not to flattery.-Act I, Sc. 2.

I Stran.

O see the monstrousness of man,
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !

Act 3, Sc. 2.

2 Var. Serv. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in ? Such may rail against great buildings.-Act 3, Sc. 4.

i Sen. He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer

The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs
His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly,
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill,
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill. -Act 3, Sc. 5.

« 이전계속 »