Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I strive I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud, Clarence is come,—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury;— Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!-With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howléd in mine ears WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY, AFTER HIS DOWNFALL. (From Henry VIII.) 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 honours 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, This 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 for ever 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' favours! There is betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspéct of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again! SHYLOCK. (From the Merchant of Venice. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, About my moneys, and my usances: Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; And all for use of that which is mine own. And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; moneys your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; I'll lend you thus much moneys. Shylock at length lends the money on condition of the payment of a pound of flesh, if the money is not returned at the time appointed. Salarino says: Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh; What's that good for? Shylock replies: To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew; Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. BASSANIO LOOKING AT PORTIA'S PORTRAIT. (From the Merchant of Venice.) What find I here? Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Seem they in motion? Here are severed lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, MERCY. (From the Merchant of Venice.) The quality of mercy is not strained; Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; mercy It is enthronéd in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself: And earthly power doth then show likest God's, |