Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, TRUE LOVE. PRESENTS LIGHTLY REGARDED BY REAL LOVERS. How now, fair shepherd ? Old sir, I know, She prizes not such trifles as these are : The gifts she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd.-0, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; * Bought, trafficked. + Pat to difficulties. Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fam'd snow, A FATHER THE BEST GUEST AT HIS SON'S NUPTIALS, Pol. Methinks, a father Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more : Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estatet? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing, But what he did being childish? Flo. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, Than most have at his age. By my white beard, RURAL SIMPLICITY. Pol. LOVE CEMENTED BY PROSPERITY, BUT LESSENED BY ADVERSITY. Prosperity's the very bond of love; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Amiction alters. * The sieve nsed to separate flour from bran is called a boliing-cloth. † Talk over bis affairs. ACT V. WONDER, PROCEEDING FROM SUDDEN JOY. There was a speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: A notable passion of wonder appeared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance * were joy or sorrow: but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. A STATUE. What was he that did make it?-See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd? and that those veins Did verily bear blood ? Pol. Masterly done : The very life seems warm upon her lip. Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in'tt Ast we are mock'd with art. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: Wbat fine chizzel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. A WIDOW COMPARED TO A TURTLE. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. * The thing imported. ti.e. Thongh her eye be fixed, it seems to have motion in it. As if. |