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Well, the voice goes, madam :
For after the stout Earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward,
As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill

He could not sit his mule.

Alas, poor man!
Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,

Lodg’d in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his covent, honourably receiv’d him :
To whom he gave these words, 'O, father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!'
So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still: and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, which he himself
Foretold should be his last, full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him.

Act 4, Sc. 2.


Grif. Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues

we write in water.–Act 4, Sc. 2.

Grif. He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;

Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading:
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.

Act 4, Sc. 2.

Kath. That comfort comes too late ;

'Tis like a pardon after execution :

That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comfort here, but prayers.

Act 4, Sc. 2.


Love and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition :
Win straying souls with modesty again ;
Cast none away.--Act 5, Sc. 2.


'Tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man. - Act 5, Sc. 2.


Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth :
This royal infant-Heaven still move about her!-
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be-
But few now living can behold that goodness-
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba shall never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her ;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with

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In her days every man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new-create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him :
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations: he shall Aourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him: our children's children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,

An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more! but she must die,-
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

Act 5, Sc. 4.



Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done ; joy's soul lies in the doing. That she belov'd knows nought that knows not this: Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is :

That she was never yet, that ever knew
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue.
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach :
Achievement is command ; ungain’d, beseech:
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

Act I, Sc. 2.


In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,
How many shallow baubie boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk !
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rivall’d greatness ? Either to harbour Aled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize
Than by the tiger ; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies filed under shade, why, then the thing of

As rous'd with rage with rage doth sympathise,
And with an accent tun'd in selfsame key
Retorts to chiding fortune.

Act I. Sc. 3.

Tro. What's aught, but as 'tis valued ?
Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ;

It holds his estimate and dignity

As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer; 'tis mad idolatry
To make the service greater than the god ;
And the will dotes that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.

Act 2, Sc. 2.

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election

Is led on in the conduct of my will ;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,

Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion
To blench from this and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
When we have soild them, nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
Because we now are full. -Act 2, Sc. 2.

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Agamemnon. He that is proud eats up himself : pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle: and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.—Act 2, Sc. 3.


Pandarus. Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, O, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe :
The shaft confounds,

Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.
These lovers cry, Oh! oh! they die !

Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn Oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still :

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