Page images

Lady. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd; And 'tis not done. Th' attempt, and not the deed,

Confounds us. Hark!
He could not miss 'em.
My father as he slept, I
My husband!

I laid their daggers ready;
Had he not resembled
[Enter Macbeth] had done't.

Macb. I've done the deed-didst thou not hear a noise!

Enter Lady MACBETH.

Lady. My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking
At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed,
How easy is it then? Your constancy

Hath left you unattended. [Knocking.] Hark, more

Lady. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us,

Did not you speak!

Macb. When?

Lady. Now.

Macb. As I descended!

Lady. Ay.

Macb. Hark-who lies i' th' second chamber?
Lady. Donalbain.

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looks on his hands.
Lady. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one
cried, Murder !

That they did wake each other; I stood and heard

But they did say their prayers, and address'd them
Again to sleep.

Lady. There are two lodg'd together.

Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and Amen! the

As they had seen me with these hangman's hands,
Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen,
When they did say, God bless us.

Lady. Consider it not so deeply.

And show us to be watchers. Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know




Wake, Duncan, with this knocking. Ay, 'would thou couldst !

[Love Scene by Night in a Garden.]

Romeo. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound-
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks;
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

[Juliet appears above at a window.
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 !

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? Her eye discourses; I will answer it

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that!

I had most need of blessing, and Amen

Stuck in my throat.

[blocks in formation]

Macb. I'll go no more.

I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look't on't again, I dare not.

Lady. Infirm of purpose:

Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.

Knocking within.

Macb. Whence is that knocking!

I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars of all the heav'n,
Having some business, do intreat 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 eyes in heav'n
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!
Jul. Ah me!

Rom. She speaks.

Oh, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As is a winged messenger of heav'n,
As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head,

Unto the white-upturned, wond'ring 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.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo-wherefore art thou Romeo!
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at

[blocks in formation]

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face-nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
[Exit. What's in a name? That which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.


How is't with me, when every noise appals me ?
What hands are here -ha! they pluck out mine


Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will


The multitudinous seas incarnardine,
Making the green one red-

Rom. I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd;

Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that thus, bescreen'd in night,
So stumblest on my counsel !

Rom. By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague }

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,

For stony limits cannot hold love out;
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes, And but thou love me, let them find me here; My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far

As that vast shore, wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain deny
What I have spoke-but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ay;
And I will take thy word. Yet if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false: at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo!
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully;
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light;
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more coying to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's passion; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discover'd.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops

Jul. O swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb: Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by !

Jul. Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

Rom. If my heart's dear love

Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night; It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say it lightens. Sweet, good-night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower, when next we meet. Good-night, good-night-as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied!

[blocks in formation]

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu !
[Nurse calls within.
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afear'd,
Being in night, all this is but a dream;
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET above.


Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good-night indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my love, throughout the world.
[Within: Madam !

I come, anon-but if thou mean'st not well,

I do beseech thee [Within: Madam !] By and by,
I come-

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief.
To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul

Jul. A thousand times good night.


Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes tow'rd love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, tow'rds school with heavy looks.

Enter JULIET again.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel gentle back again. Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo !

Rom. My sweet!

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

Rom. At the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there; Rememb'ring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. "Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone;
And yet no further than a wanton's bird,
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would I :

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good-night, good-night: parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good-night, till it be morrow. [Exit.
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy


[blocks in formation]

Jes. In such a night

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor. In such a night

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand

Upon the wide sea-banks, and waft her love To come again to Carthage.

Jes. In such a night

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old son.

Lor. In such a night

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,

And with an unthrift love did run from Venice As far as Belmont.

Jes. And in such a night

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor. And in such a night

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.


How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica; look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn:
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

Jes. I'm never merry when I hear sweet music.
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive;
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing

(Which is the hot condition of their blood);
If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand;
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath not music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus :
Let no such man be trusted.

Merchant of Venice.

[Ghost Scene in Hamlet.]

Hamlet. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham. What hour now?

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.

Marcellus. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near

the season

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [Noise of warlike music within. What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his


Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring up-spring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor. Is it a custom !
Ham. Ay, marry is't:

But to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom

More honoured in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,

Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations; They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes

From our achievements, though perform'd at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute.

So oft it chances in particular men,

That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,

By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'erleavens
The form of plausive manners; that these men
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,

As infinite as man may undergo,

Shall in the general censure take corruption

From that particular fault. The dram of base
Doth all the noble substance often dout
To his own scandal.

Enter GHOST.

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heav'n or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane; Oh, answer me;
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonis'd bones, hears'd in death,
Have burst their cerements? Why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quictly inurn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again? What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls!
Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do!
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action
It waves you off to a removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

[Holding Hamid.

Ham. It will not speak: then I will follow it.

[blocks in formation]

Hor. What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord; Therefore, 'tis certain he was not ambitious.

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his base into the sea;

And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? Think of it.

The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me still.-Go on, I'll follow thee.
Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham. Hold off your hands.

Mar. Be rul'd; you shall not go.
Ham. My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen-

[Breaking from them.
By heav'n, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me-
I say, away! Go on-I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.
Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow! 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after. To what issue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Hor. Heaven will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

[Mark Antony over Caesar's Body.]


1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 2d Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with


3d Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

4th Cit. Now, mark him, he begins again to speak.
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

Oh, masters! if I were dispos'd to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men.

I will not do them wrong: I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar:
I found it in his closet; 'tis his will.
Let but the commons hear this testament
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read),
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.

4th Cit. We'll hear the will; read it, Mark Antony.
All. The will! the will! We will hear Cæsar's

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends! I must not read it;

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd you.


I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones :
So let it be with Cæsar. Noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest
(For Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all, all honourable men),
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept ;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that, on the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
Oh, judgment thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason! Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad.
Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ;
For, if you should, Oh, what would come of it!

4th Čit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony: You shall read us the will; Cæsar's will!

Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay a while? I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it.

I fear I wrong the honourable men

Whose daggers have stabb'd Cæsar. I do fear it. 4th Cit. They were traitors. Honourable men!

All. The will! the testament !

2d Cit. They were villains, murderers! The will!
Read the will!

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?
All. Come down.

2d Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the pulpit.
3d Cit. You shall have leave.

4th Cit. A ring! Stand round!

1st Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
2d Cit. Room for Antony-most noble Antony!
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.
All. Stand back! room! bear back!
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle. I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.

Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through;
See, what a rent the envious Casca made!
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;

1st Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,


Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!

As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no.

For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel;
Judge, Oh you gods! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him.
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty heart :
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
Oh, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
Kind souls! What! weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded! Look you here!
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
1st Cit. O piteous spectacle !

2d Cit. O noble Cæsar!

3 Cit. O woful day!

4th Cit. O traitors! villains!

1st Cit. O most bloody sight!

Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;

She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange,

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful

She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man :--she thank'd


And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story;
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.

[Queen Mab.]

O then, I see queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,

2d Cit. We will be reveng'd! Revenge! About-
seek-burn-fire-kill-slay! Let not a trai-Drawn with a team of little atomies,

tor live!

[Othello's Relation of his Courtship to the Senate.]

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approv'd good masters; That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little blest with the soft phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore shall I little grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet by your gracious patience I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) I won his daughter with.


Her father lov'd me, oft invited me ;
Still question'd me the story of my
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.

I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history.
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my lot to speak, such was the process;
And of the cannibals that each other eat,
The anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,

Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers,
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on courtsies straight ;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.

Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice!
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.

Romeo and Juliet

[End of All Earthly Glories.]

Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind! We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest.

« PreviousContinue »