Imagens das páginas

If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand;
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to

And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor..
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

35-v. 1.

I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony;-
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man !



A dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 35-ii. 2.


The innocent sleep; Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.

15-ii. 2.


'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows: White and azure, laced With blue of heaven's own tinct.b

On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops l'the bottom of a cowslip.

31-ii. 2.

Sleave, is unwrought silk. 'Ravell'd sleave of care,'--the brain.

bi.e. The white skin laced with blue veins.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

29-ü. I.

153 Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.


154 O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim Death! how foul and loathsome is thine image!

12Induction, 1,

To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought!

26-iv. 2.

156 As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour When it lies starklyd in the traveller's bones.

5-iv. 2. 157 Sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft


how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common ’larum beli ? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal


the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

• Shapes created by the imagination.

d. Stiffty

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafʼning clamours on the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ?
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king ?

19-üi. 1.

158 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon

her! And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying!


159 See the life as lively mock'd, as ever Still sleep mock'd death.


160 The golden dew of sleep.


161 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose. 34-iv. 4.


I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclined to do so. Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter.

1-ii. l.

The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o’erpower'd.

17-v. 1. 164

The life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure

brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.

16-v. 7.

• Noise.

165 O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves.


166 Thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou seest, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. 16-v. 7.

167 Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die.

17-v.5. 168

If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

5-iii. 1.


Like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish.

25-iii. l.


Death, Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words: or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.


& Model.

Now, boast thee, death! in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd.-Downy windows, close;
And golden Phæbus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal !

30-v. 2.

172 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

35-iv. 5.

Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire ?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false; since it is true,
That I must die here, and live hence by truth!

16-v.4. 174

Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it: he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.

15-i. 4.


O, my love! my wife!
Death that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?


8 In allusion to the images made by the witches.

« AnteriorContinuar »