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ANATHEMA ON SELF, IF GUILTY.
O, THEN my best blood turn
To an infected jelly; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the Best!
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril
WINTER'S TALE, A. 1, s. 2.
ANATOMY OF FRIENDSHIP.
LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.
TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends; but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: How had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. 0, you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of them? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for them: and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends?
O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere it can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks; to forget their faults, I drink to you.
TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 2.
AN OLD SINNER ACTING THE
HARRY, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here lies the point;Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries ? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses ? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but in woes also:And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his
A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r-lady, inclining to threescore; and, now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month?
K. HENRY IV., Part I., A. 2, s. 4.
AN OVER GENEROUS NATURE RE-
O, BLESSED breeding sun, draw from the earth
Scarce is dividant,-touch them with several fortunes;
The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,
But by contempt of nature.
Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord:
It is the pasture lards the brother's sides,
In purity of manhood stand upright,
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this, will make black, white; foul, fair;
Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.
Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why, this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides;
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd;
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
But yet I'll bury thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief,
[Keeping some gold.
TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 4, s. 3.
ANTAGONISM OF THE SOLDIER AND THE PRIEST.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest, You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason; reason and respect Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, A. 2, s. 2.