« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Doing more murders in this loathsome world
Than thefe poor compounds that thou mayst
I fell thee poison, thou haft fold me none-
Farewel; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague;
Can vengeance be purfu'd further than death?
Condemned villain! I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.
Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I
Good gentle youth, tempt not a defp'rate man;
Fly hence and leave me think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Heap not another fin upon my head,
By urging me to fury. O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself.
Par I do defy thy conjurations,
And do attach thee as a felon here.
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at
thee, boy. [They fight, Paris falls.
Par. O, I am flain! if thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
Rom. In faith I will:-let me peruse this face,
Mercutio's kinfiman, noble County Paris :
What faid my man, when my betoffed foul
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he not fo? or did I dream it fo?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was fo?-O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in four misfortune's book!
Romeo's laft Speech over Juliet in the Vault.
O my love! my wife!
Death, that hath fuck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's enfign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-
Tybalt, lieft thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To funder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, coufin!-Ah, dear Juliet !
Why art thou yet fo fair? fhall I believe
That unfubftantial death is amorous;
And that the lean, abhorred monfter keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I will ftill ftay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again; here, here will I remain,
With worms that are thy chambermaids-0,
Will I fet up my everlasting reft;
And thake the yoke of inaufpicious ftars [laft!
From this world-wearied fleth. Eyes, look your
Arms, take your laft embrace! and lips, O you
The doors of breath, feal with a righteous kiís
A dateless bargain to engroffing death!-
Come, bitter conduct! come, unfav'ry guide!
Thou defp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy fea-fick, weary bark!
§ 34. TIMON OF ATHENS.
THE painting is almoft the natural man; [ture,
traffics with man's na. He is but outfide:, thefe pencil'd figures are Even fuch as they give out.
The Grace of a Cynic Philofopher.
Immortal gods! I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself:
Grant I may never prove fo fond
To truft man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot, for her weeping;
Or a dog, that seems a-fleeping;
Or my friends, if I fhould need 'em.
Or a keeper, with my freedom;
Amen! Amen! fo fall to 't,
Rich men fin, and I eat root.
A faithful Steward.
So the gods blefs me,
When all our offices have been oppreft [wept
With riotous feeders; when our vaults have
With drunken fpilth of wine, when every room
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with min-
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, [ftrelly;
And fet mine eyes at flow.
The Ingratitude of Timon's Friends.
They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot
Do what they would; are forry-you are ho
But yet they could have wifh'd-they know
Something hath been amifs-a noble nature
May catch a wrench-would all were well-'tis
And, fo, intending other ferious matters,
After diftafteful looks, and thefe hard fractions,
They froze me into filence.
With certain half-caps, and cold moving nods,
Tim. You gods reward them!-
Pr'ythee, man, look cheerly: these old fellows
Have their ingratitude in than hereditary :
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it feldom flows;
"Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.
Your words have took fuch pains, as if they
To bring inanflaughter into form, and fet quar-
Upon the head of valour; which, indeed,
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world,
When fects and factions were but newly born.
He's truly valiant, that can wifely fuffer
The worst that man can breathe, and make his
His outfides; to wear them, like his raiment,
Obedience fail in children! flaves, and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled fenate from the bench,
And minifter in their fleads! to general filths
Convert o' the inftant, green virginity! [faft;
Do 't in your parents' eyes! Bankrupts, hold
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trufters' throats! Bound fervants,
Large-handed robbers your grave mafters are,
And pill by law! Maid, to thy master's bed;
Thy miftrefs is o' the brothel? Son of fixteen,
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping fire,
With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, juftice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-reft, and neighbourhood,
Inftruction, manners, myfteries, and trades,
Degrees, obfervances, cuftoms, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries,
And yet confufion live!-Plagues incident to
Your potent and infectious fevers heap [men,
On Athens, ripe for firoke! Thou cold feiatica,
Cripple our fenators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners. Luft and liberty
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth;
That 'gainst the ftream of virtue they may ftrive,
And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blairs,
Sow all the Athenian bofoms; and their crop
Be general leprofy; breath infect breath;
That their fociety, as their friendship, may
Be merely poifen! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
A Friend forfaken.
As we do tu n our backs
From our companion thrown into his grave,
So his familiars to his buried fortunes
Slink all away; leave their falle vows with him,
Like empty purfes pick'd: and his poor itif,,
A dedicated beggar to the air,
With his difcate of all-fhumm'd poverty,
Walks, like contempt, alone.
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold! No,
I am no idle votariit. Roots, you clear heavens!
Thus much of this will make black, white; foul,
Wrong, right, bafe, noble; old, young; coward,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With fenators on the bench: this is it
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the fpitalhouse and ulcerous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and pie
To the Aprilday again. Come, danne earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make the
Do thy right nature.
Go on-here's gold—go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poin
In the fick air: let not thy fword ikip one:
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;
He is an ufurer. Strike me the counterfeit ma
It is her habit only that is honest, tron;
Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's check
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for thote m
That thro' the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
But fet them down horrible traitors. Spare not
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhauft the
Think it a baftard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against obje»j
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids,
Nor fight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy fo
Make large confufion; and, thy fury ipent, en
Confounded be thyfelf! fpeak not, begone.
To the Courtezans.
In hollow bones of man; ftrike their sharp fhics,
And mar men's fpurring. Crack the lawye
That he may never more falfe title plead, 1976
Nor found his quillets fhrilly: hear the flama
That fcolds against the quality of fleth,
And not believes himfelt: down with the net,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to foresce,
Smells from the genial weal: make curl'd-p
And let the unicarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you.
Timon's Reflections on the Earth. That nature, being fick of man's unkirdncís, Should yet be hangry! Common mother, thou, Whofe womb uumeafurable, and infinite breat Teems, and feeds all; whofe felf-fame mettle Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is p.fi, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? The gilded newt, and eyclefs venom'd worm, why this [lides; With all the abhorred births below crifp hese, Will lug your priefs and fervants from your Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth hire, Pluck fout men's pillows from below their Yield him, who all thy human fons doth hate, This yellow flave [heads: From forth thy plenteous boiom, one poor roct! Will knit and break religions; blefs the accurs'd; Enfear thy fertile and conceptious w mh! Make the hoar leprosy ador ̊0; place thieves, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears, f That never knew but better, is fome burthen, Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Thy nature did commence in fufferance; time Hath to the marble manfion all above Hath made thee hard in 't. Why shouldit thou hate men? Hever prefented!-0, a root-dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, hereof ingrateful man, with liquorith draughts, nd morfels unctuous, greafes his pure mind, hat from it all confideration flips!
Timon's Difcourfe with Apemantus.
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected:
poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
om change of fortune? Why this ipade? this
Fiis flave-like habit? and these looks of care?
y Hatt "rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lie soft;
g their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot
at ever Timon was. Shame not thefe woods,
putting on the cunning of a carper.
thou a flatt'rer now, and feek to thrive
that which hath undone thee: hinge thy knee,
1 let his very breath, whom thou'lt obferve,
w off thy cap; praise his moft vicious ftrain,
d call it excellent. Thou waft told thus ;
ou gav ft thine ears, like tapfters, that bid
knaves, and all approachers: 'tis most just at thou turn rafcal; hadft thou wealth again, cals fhould have't. Do not affume my likeness. i. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myfelf. tem. Thou haft caft away thyself, being like thyfelf,
adman fo long, now a fool: what, think' it the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, I put thy fhirt on warm? will thefe moift trees, at have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, dskip when thou point it out ?-will the cold brook,
died with ice, cawdle thy morning taste, cure thy o'er-night's furfeit? Call the crea
fe naked natures live in all the spite
reakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks,
the conflicting elements expos'd,
wer mere nature--bid them flatter thee;
thou fhalt find———
im. Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender
h favour never clafp'd; but bred a dog.
ft thou,like us, from our firft fwath, proceeded
fweet degrees that this brief world affords
fuch as may the paffive drugs of it
ly command, thou wouldst have plung'd thy-
eneral riot; melted down thy youth [ielf
ifferent beds of luft; and never learn'd
They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given?
If thou wilt curfe thy father, that poor rag
Muft be thy fubject, who in fpite put ftuff
To fome fhe-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! begone.
If thou hadft not been born the worft of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.
O thou fweet king killer, and dear divorce
[Looking on the gold.
'Twixt natural fon and fire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's pureft bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
Whofe bluth doth thaw the confecrated fnow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
That folder'st clofe impoffibilities,
And mak`it them lifs! that speak'ft with every
To every purpofe! O thou touch of hearts!
Think, thy flave man rebels: and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire.
cy precepts of refpect, but follow'd : lugar'd game before thee. But myself, had the world as my conte&tionary, [men e mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of futy, more than I could frame employment; at numberlefs upon me ftuck, as leaves
on the oak-have with one winter's brush Ifrom their boughs, and left me open, bare, every form that blows:-I, to bear this,
Timon to the Thieves.
Why should you want? behold, the earth hath
Within this mile break forth an hundred fprings,
The oaks bear mafts, the briers fcarlet hips;
The bounteous huiwife, nature, on each bufh
Lays her full mefs before you. Want! why want?
i Thief. We cannot live on grais, on berries,
As beasts, and birds, and fishes.
Tim. Nor on the beafts themfelves, the birds, and fishes;
You must eat men. Yet thanks, I must you con,
are thieves profeft; that you work not
In holier fhapes: for there is boundless theft
In limited profeflions. Raical thieves.
Here's gold: go, fuck the fubtle blood o' the grape,
Till the high fever feethe your blood to froth,
And fo 'fcape hanging: truft not the physician;
His antidotes are poilon, and he flays
More than you rob; take wealth and lives to-
Do villainy; do, fince you profels to do 't,
Like workinen: I'll example you with thievery.
The fun's a thief, and with his great attraction,
Robs the vast fea; the moon 's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire the fnatches from the fun;
The fea's a thief, whofe liquid furge refolves
The moon into falt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breede by a composture ftelen
From gen'ral excrement: each thing
The laws, your curb and whip, in their roughpow'r
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves,away;
Rob one another. There's more gold: cut throats;
All that you meet are thieves: to Athens, go,
Break open fhops; nothing can you steal,
But thieves do lofe its
On bis honeft Steward.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rashness,
You perpetual-fober gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man-miftake me not-but one;
No more, I pray-and he is a steward.
How fain would I have hated ail mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I feil with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honeft now than wife;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,
Thou might'ft have fconer got another service :
For many fo arrive at fecond mafters,
Upon their first lord's neck.
Wrong and Infolence.
Now breathlefs wrong
Shall fit and pant in your great chairs of ease;
And purfy infolence fhall break his wind
With fear, and horrid flight.
VILT thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful:
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
Thanks, to men
Of noble mind, is honourable meed.
An Invitation to Love.
A Ring in a dark Pit.
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,
Which, like a taper in fome monument,
Doth shine upon the dead man's carthy cheeks,
And fhews the ragged entrails of this pit.
The birds chaunt melody on every bush;
The fnake lies rolled in the cheerful fun;
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind.
And make a chequer'd fhadow on the ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us fit;
And whilft the babbing echo mocks the hounds,
Replying thrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
As if a double hunt were heard at once-
Let us fit down, and mark their yelling noife:
And after conflict-fuch as was fuppos'd
The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy ftorm they were furpris'd,
And curtain'd with a counfel-keeping cave-
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
Our paftimes done, poffefs a golden flumber!
Whiles hounds, and horns, and fweet melodious
Be unto us as is a nurse's fong
Of lullaby, to bring her babe afleep.
Vale, a dark and melancholy one described.
A barren detefted vale, you fee, it is:
The trees, tho' fummer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with mofs, and baleful miffeltoe.
Here never fhines the fun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And, when they fhew'd me this abhorr'd pit,
They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
A thou fand fiends, a thousand hifling fnakes,
Ten thousand fwelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make fuch fearful and confuled cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
Should straight fall mad, or elfe die fuddenly.
Young Lady playing on a Lute and finging.
Fair Philomela, the but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from the;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
O, had the monfter feen thofe lily hands,
Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lote,
And make the filken strings delight to kits them;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life;
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony,
Which that fweet tongue hath made,
He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
A Lady's Tongue cut out.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blabb'd them with fuch pleafing cloquent,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage;
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it fung
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
A Perfon in Defpair compared to one on a Rock,
For now I ftand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wildnernefs of fea;
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wa
Expecting ever when tome envious furge
Will in his brinish bowels fwallow him.
Tears compared to Der on a Lily. When I did naine her brothers, then fresh tr Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almoft wither'd.
Reflections on killing a Fly.
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'da fr.
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mot
How would he hang his flender gilded wingi,
And buz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor harmless fly!
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry; and thou haft ki
Lo, by thy fide, where rape and murder fl^^!
Now give fome furance that thou art revenge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheth
And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner,
And whirl along with thee about the globe,
Provide thee two proper palfries, as black
To hale thy vengeful waggon fwift away,
And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
And, when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will difmount, and by the waggon wheel
Trot, like a fervile footinan, all day long;
Even from Hyperion's rifing in the caft,
Until his very downfall in the fea,
36. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SHAKSPEARE.
Love in a brave young Soldier.
CALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find fuch cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
The Greeks are strong and skilful to their
Fierce to the ir ikill and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance;
Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night,
And fkill-lefs as unpractis'd infancy.
O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Creffid's love: Thou anfwer'ft, she is fair;
Pour'ft in the open ulcer of my heart [voice;
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her
Handleft in thy difcourfe-O, that her hand,
In whofe comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whofe foft feizure
The cygnet's down is harth, and fpirit of fenfe
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou
As true thou tell'it me, when I fay I love her;
But, taying thus, inftead of oil and balm,
Thou lay in every gafh that love hath given
The knife that made it.
Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what difcord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy. The bounded waters Should lift their bofoms higher than the fhores, And make a fop of all this folid globe: Strength fhould be lord of imbecility,
And the rude fon should strike his father dead: Force fhould be right; or, rather, right and wrong
(Between whofe endless jar juftice refides) [too.
Should lose their names, and fo fhould justice
Then every thing includes itfelf in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an univerfal wolf,
So doubly feconded with will and power,
Muft make perforce an univerfal prey,
And laft cat up itfelf,
Conduct in War fuperior to Action.
The ftill and mental parts,
That do contrive how many hands fhall ftrike When fitnefs calls them on; and know, by meafure
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity;
Of their obfervant toil, the enemies' weight-
They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet war:
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great fwing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those, that with the fineness of their fouls By reafon guide his execution.
Adverfity the Trial of Man.
Why then, you princes, Do you with cheeks abafh'd behold our works, And think them fhames, which are indeed nought Put the protractive trials of great Jove, The finenets of which metal is not found To find perfiftive conftancy in men? In fortune's love for then the bold and coward, The wife and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and foft, seem all affin'd and kin: But, in the wind and tempeft of her frown, Diftinction, with a broad and pow'rful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mafs, or matter, by itself, Lies rich in virtue, and unmingled.
Achilles defcribed by Ulysses.
The great Achilles-whom opinion crowns
The finew and the fore-hand of our hoft-
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our defigns: with him Patroclius,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day
Breaks fcurril jefts;
And with ridiculous and awkward action
(Which, flanderer! he imitation calls)
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on
And, like a ftrutting player-whofe conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and found
'Twixt his ftretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,
Such to be pitied and o'erwrefted feeming
He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending: with terms unfquar'd,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would feem hyperboles. At this fufty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his preft bed lolling,
From his deep cheft laughs out a loud applause;
Cries-"Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just!
Now play me Neftor-hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being dreft to fome oration."
That's done as near as the extremeft ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles ftill cries Excellent!
'Tis Neftor right? Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night-alarm,"
And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age
Muft be the fcere of mirth; to cough and ipit,
And, with a pally tumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet and at this part