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Teach me, dear creature, how to think and

speak; Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Sinother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your words’ deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you,

To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god ? would you create me new ? Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield.

COMEDY OF ERRORS, A. 3, s. 2.

ADMIRATION OF BEAUTY. WHAT! are men mad? Hath nature given them

eyes To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones Upon the number'd beach ? and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious, 'Twixt fair and foul ?

CYMBELINE, A. 1, 8. 7.

AFFECTION.

O! Let me clip you In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward.

CORIOLANUS, A. 1, s. 6.

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AGE AND WISDOM PAYING TRIBUTE

TO HEROISM.
NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen

thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have

seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the

air, Not letting it decline on the declined; That I have said to some my standers-by, Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life! And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm’d thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him : he was a soldier

good;
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee;
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

Æneas. ` 'Tis the old Nestor.
HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old

chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with

time: Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, A. 4, s. 5.

AGE DISCOVERING THE CANKER

WORM.
She hath abated me of half my train;

Look'd black upon me; struck me with her

tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart :All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall On her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness! You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride!

KING LEAR, A. 2, s. 4.

AGE GUIDING YOUTH.

I KNOW, When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both, Even in their promise, as it is a making You must not take for fire. From this time, Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence: Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Than a command to parley.

HAMLRT, A. 1, s. 3.

AGONY OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Ay, so, God be wi' you :-Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That from her working, all his visage wann'd; Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting

With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing !
For Hecuba?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion,
That I have ? He would drown the stage with

tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property, and most dear life,
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ?
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i’ the

throat, As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? Ha! Why, I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless vil

lain! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave; That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a cursing, like a very drab, A scullion!

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Fye upon't! foh! About my brain! Humph!

I have heard, That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I'll have these

players Play something like the murder of my father, Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks ; I'll tent him to the quick; if he do blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen, May be a devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape: yea, and, perhaps, Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, (As he is very potent with such spirits,) Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this : The play's the thing, Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

HAMLET, A. 2, s. 2.

ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. PORTIA. Go, draw aside the curtains, and

discover The several caskets to this noble prince :Now make your choice. MOROCCO. The first, of gold, who this in

scription bears ; Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. The second, silver, which this promise carries ; Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt;

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