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Those twins of learning that he raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one* of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little :
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

Acr V.

Archbishop Cranmer's Prophecy of the Future Greatness of the Infant Princess, afterwards Queen Elizabeth.

Let me speak, sir,

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them 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: Sheba was 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 he

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;

She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her;

Ipswich.

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,

And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with

her;

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 dark

ness)

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 flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him ; Our children's chil

dren

Shall see this, and bless Heaven,

·000

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

This play describes the wanderings of Pericles, Prince of Tyre, to avoid the anger of Antiochus, King of Antioch, who was seek

Y

ing to kill him. It has been generally conjectured, that portions only of the drama were written by Shakspere's hand. The play, however, appears in every edition of the great dramatist's works. Malone says of Pericles-"The numerous expressions bearing a similitude to passages in the undisputed plays, some of the incidents, and in various places the colour of the style, all combine to set the seal of Shakspere on the play, and furnish us with proofs that a considerable portion of it was written by him."

Аст І.

Sanctity of a Good Man's Word.

I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath ; Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both.

Description of a Prosperous City.

This Tharsus, o'er which I have government,
(A city, on whom plenty held full hand),
For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets ;
Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the clouds,

And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at;
Whose men and dames so jetted* and adorn'd,
Like one another's glass to trim† them by;
Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight,
And not so much to feed on, as delight;
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great,
The name of help grew odious to repeat.

Sorrows never come singly.

One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, That may succeed as his inheritor.

✓ Jet, to strut.

† Trim, to dress.

ACT III.

Pericles' Prayer during the Storm at Sea.

Thou God of this great vast,* rebuke these surges, Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,

Having call'd them from the deep! O still thy deaf'ning,

Thy dreadful thunders, gently quench thy nimble sulphurous flashes.

Virtue and Knowledge superior to Nobility and Wealth.

I held it ever,

Virtue and cunning† were endowments greater

Than nobleness and riches; careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend;
But inmortality attends the former,
Making a man a god.

·000·

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSor.

It is generally supposed that this comedy was written at the command of Queen Elizabeth, who was so much amused at the humours of Sir John Falstaff in the historical plays, that she desired to have a representation of the fat knight in love. Shakspere is said to have written this play in fourteen days. The escapades of Falstaff occupy the most conspicuous place in it, whilst the episode of the loves of Fenton and Anne Page form a pleasing variety. Dr. Johnson says-"This comedy is remarkable for the variety and number of the personages, who exhibit more characters, appropriated and discriminated, than perhaps can be found ir any other play."

*This vast extent of ocean

+ Knowledge.

ACT III.

Inequality of means and position between lovers an obstacle to marriage.

He doth object, I am too great of birth;
And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth:

;

Besides these, other bars he lays before me,—
My riots past, my wild societies
And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible
I should love thee, but as a property.

The sincerity of Fenton's love for Anne Page.
I will confess, thy father's wealth

Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne:
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;
And 'tis the very riches of thyself

That now I aim at.

ACT IV.

Legend of Herne the Hunter.

There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,

Walk round about an oak, with great ragged horns; And there he blasts the tree, and takes* the cattle; And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain In a most hideous and dreadful manner :

You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, The superstitious idle-headed eld

Received, and did deliver to our age,

This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.

* Strikes with disease.

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