Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : A sweet Athenian lady is in love With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; THE MEDIEVAL WARRIOR. I THANK him, that he cuts me from my tale, K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 5, s. 2. THE MIND REQUIRES THE GREAT ARCHITECT TO SET THE HEART IN ORDER. WHY, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not; And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. TITUS ANDRONICUS, A. 3, s. 1. THE MISERY OF SUSPICION. LET none disturb us: Why this charge of thoughts? The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them, And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, And so with me ;-the great Antiochus ('Gainst whom I am too little to contend, Since he's so great, can make his will his act,) Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence; Nor boots it me to say, I honour him, If he suspect I may dishonour him: And what may make him blush in being known, He'll stop the course by which it might be known. PERICLES, A. 1, s. 2. THE MORALITY OF TIME. O GENTLEMEN, the time of life is short; Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 5, s. 2. THE MOTHER CONQUERS—THE HERO DIES. O MOTHER, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome: But, for your son,―believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come ; Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, CORIOLANUS, A. 5, s. 3. THE MOTHER SAVES HER BOY. DUCHESS. O king, believe not this hardhearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can. YORK. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? DUCH. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. BOLINGBROKE. DUCH. Rise up, good aunt. [Kneels. Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I kneel upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, [Kneels. YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCH. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly, and would be denied; grow: His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. BOLING. Good aunt, stand up. DUCH. Nay, do not say-stand up; But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how : The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. YORK. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez moy. DUCH. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. |