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Thus to mine eyes.

Now, o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now Witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered Murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

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BUT, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid, since she is envious:

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady: O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold; 't is not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

She speaks:

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Shakspeare.

CCXLVI.

POLONIUS TO LAERTES.

MY blessing with you !

And these few precepts in thy memory,

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar :
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade: beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear it, that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy;

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,

Are most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all, to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man!

Shakspeare

CCXLVII.

WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY THE KING.

NAY, then, farewell!

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;

And, from that full meridian of my glory,

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms.
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ;
And, when he thinks, - good easy man,
full surely
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world. I hate ye!
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have.
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again!

Shakspeare.

CCXLVII.

WOLSEY TO CROMWELL.

ROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear

CRON

In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.

Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee, -
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, -
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me!
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty ;

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.

Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fallest, O Cromwell, Thou fallest a blesséd martyr! Serve the king;

And

Prithee, lead me in :

There, take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 't is the king's; my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, He would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies!

Shakspeare

COXLIX.

GRIFFITHS DESCRIPTION OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.

Μ'

EN'S evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now? This Cardinal,
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashioned to much honor. From his cradle,
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one:
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading;
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not,

But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer;
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely; ever witness for him
Those twins of learning that he raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good he 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 heaped happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little :
And to add greater honors to his age

Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

Shakspears.

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