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Hamlet's Soliloquy.

O be, or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?-to die, -to sleep, no more; and, by a sleep, to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to ;-'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. to die ;-to sleep ;

to sleep! perchance to dream;-ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. there's the respect

that makes calamity of so long life.

for who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
the pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
the insolence of office, and the spurns

that patient merit of the unworthy takes,
when he himself might his quietus make
with a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear
to grunt and sweat under a weary life;
but that the dread of something after death,-
the undiscovered country, from whose bourn
no traveller returns,-puzzles the will,
and makes us rather bear those ills we have,
than fly to others that we know not of?
thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;
and thus the native hue of resolution

is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
and enterprises of great pith and moment,
with this regard, their currents turn awry,
and lose the name of action.


Grande Certamen.

SSE iuvet necne esse, hoc in discrimen agendumst: utrum tandem animo sit honestius inmoderatae glandes pertolerare et spicula fortunaï, an contra aerumnas ipsum maris instar habentes arma capessere et obstando pacare per aevum. mors sopor est, nil praeterea; sed scire soporem posse animi angores et vulnera naturaï innumerabilia, humanis contingere sueta, pacare, est nobis optandus terminu' talis.

mors sopor; at fors visa ferat sopor: haeret ibi res.
quippe etenim somno in mortis quae somnia possunt
accidere, excusso mortalis turbine vitae ?

hinc pausam damus; hoc perpenso, denique cunctis
pergimus aerumnis affectum porro agere aevum.
quis ludibria enim atque aetatis verbera ferret,
quisve superborum fastidia vimve potentum
iustitiaeve moras, quis spreti vulnus amoris
lictorisve supercilium aut indigna malorum
facta quibus vexant summissos inque merentes,
ense mero tabulas cum conficere ipse potesset?
quis grave onus fessae vitaï pertoleraret
cum grunnitibus ac multis sudoribus aegris,
ni metus ille, aliquid nobis ne in morte ferat fors,
inque reperta loci ratio, a quo fine viator
nemo usquam remigrat, perculsum distraheret cor
ergo damna pati praesentia malumus ista


quam nobis nova perfugium atque incognita habere.
haec animus versans timidos nos efficit omnes,
nativusque colos ac strenua vis animaï
tabescunt aegrae palloribus oblita curae;
coeptaque persaepe egregia et molimine magno
declinant sese pravos rationibus istis

in cursus, ea quae fuerant iam indigna cluere.

H. A. J. M.

Upon a Flie.

GOLDEN flie one shew'd to me,
closed in a box of yvorie:

where both seem'd proud; the flie to have

his buriall in an yvorie grave:
the yvorie tooke state to hold
a corps as bright as burnisht gold.
one fate had both; both equall grace,
the buried and the burying-place.
not Virgil's gnat, to whom the spring
all flowers sent to'is burying:
not Martial's bee, which in a bead
of amber quick was buried:

nor that fine worme, that do's interre
her selfe i'th silken sepulchre,

more honour had, then this same flie

dead, and closed up in yvorie.


Native Nobility.

THOU Goddess!

thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st in these two princely boys! they are as gentle

as zephyrs blowing below the violet,

not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
their royal blood enchafed, as th' rudest wind,
that by the top doth take the mountain pine,
and make him stoop to the vale. 'tis wonderful
that an invisible instinct should frame them
to royalty unlearned, honour untaught,
civility not seen from other, valour

that wildly grows in them, but yields a crop.
as if it had been sowed.


Honos Sepulcri.

USCA mihi visast, nuper monstrante sodali,
aurea, quam niveo tegmine clausit ebur.

illa tumet, tumet hoc, fastu; nam musca superbit, materies busti quod sit eburna sui,

iactat ebur rutilo se corpore, quo nitor auri

vincitur, artificis lausque laborque manus. sors eadem fatis, decor est aequatus, utrique, quae iacet hic, muscae, quo iacet illa, loco. non culicis funus, celebrat quem musa Maronis, ver licet huic tribuat quod dare possit opum, nec quae viva latet Phaethontide condita gutta, versibus Hispani cognita vatis, apis,

nec sibi qui, vermis pulcherrimus, ipse sepulcrum, undique nens stamen molle, parare solet,

illius eximios muscae superarit honores, mortua cui niveum membra coercet ebur.

H. W. M.

Fortes creantur fortibus.

Ω Φύσις, ἄνασσα πότνι, ὡς ἄρ ̓ εὐγενοῖν
τοῖνδ ̓ οὐκ ἄσημος ἐμπρέπεις παίδουν τρόποις,
οἱ πρευμενεῖς μέν εἰσιν, ὡς ἡδὺς πνέων
ζέφυρος, των όπηνίκ' ευώδη κόμην
ὑπῆλθεν οὐδ ̓ ἔσεισεν· οἱ δ' αὐτοὶ πάλιν,
ἐὰν τύραννον αἷμα θερμανθῇ ποτε,
τραχεῖς, ὁποῖος ὅστις ἀγριώτατος
ἄνεμος ὀρείαν αὐχένος λαβὼν πίτυν
κάμπτει πρὸς οἶδας. θαῦμα τοι παρειχέτην
φρόνημα φύσαντ' ἀσκόπως ἄτερ τέχνης
τύραννον, αἰδῶ τ' οὐ διδασκάλων ύπο,
καὶ τοὐπιεικὲς οὐ μαθόντ ̓ ἄλλων πάρα,
αὐτόσπορόν τε θάρσος ἐν δὲ τοῖνδ ̓ ἴσα
γύαις σπορητοῖς ἐκφέρον καρπώματα.

J. R.

The Stedfast Shepherd.

'ME no slave to such as you be;
neither shall a snowy brest,
wanton eye, or lip of ruby

ever rob me of my rest;

goe, goe, display thy beautie's ray

to some more soon-enamoured swaine;

those common wiles of sighs and smiles

are all bestowed on me in vaine.
I have elsewhere vowed a duty;
turne away thy tempting eyes:
shew not me a naked beautie,
these impostures I despise ;

my spirit lothes where gawdy clothes
and fained othes may love obtaine.

I love her so, whose looke sweares no,
that all your labour will be vaine.
Can he prize the tainted posies
which on every brest are worn,
that may plucke the spotlesse roses
from their never-touchèd thorne ?
you labour may to lead astray
the heart that constant shall remaine :
and I the while will sit and smile,
to see you spend your time in vain.


The Receiver as Bad as the Thief.

AYS the Earth to the Moon, 'you're a pilfering jade, what you steal from the Sun is beyond all belief.' Madam Earth, give up railing,' fair Cynthia said,

'the receiver is reckoned as bad as the thief.'


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