Imatges de pÓgina

And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wondrous sensible,

He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.

So long

As he could make me with this eye or ear
Distinguish him from others, he did keep
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
Still waving as the fits and stirs of his mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.

Sweet Valentine, adieu!

Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:

Wish me partaker in thy happiness,

When thou dost meet good hap; and, in thy danger,

If ever danger do environ thee,

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

Here I firmly vow,

Never to woo her more; but do forswear her,
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon;
God give us leisure for these rights of love!
Once more, adieu !

And whether we shall meet again, I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take :-
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius !
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.


At once, good night :Stand not upon the order of your going,

But go at once.

And So, without more circumstance at all,


I hold it fit, that we shake hands and part:
You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ;-
For every man hath business, and desire,

Such as it is, and for my own poor part,
Look you, I will go pray.



poor are they, that have not patience! What wound did ever heal, but by degrees?

O gentle son,

Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience.

I do oppose

My patience to his fury; and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.


This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;
He, only, in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.

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 fall'st, O Crom


Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.

I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.

Our subjects, Sir,

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,

As easily as a king.

Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome-Speak, strike, redress!
Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake!-



peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser.

In her days, every man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry song of peace to all his neighbours.


peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility.

Ay; but give me worship and quietness,

I like it better than a dangerous honour.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd War hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;

And now,-instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace :
'Tis death to me, to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men's love.

The sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk.

You were us'd

To say, extremity was the trier of spirits;
That common chances common men could bear,
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating


To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.


Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.

I'll give thee armour to keep off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee.

I pray thee peace; I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ache patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.

Therefore, brave conquerors,-for so you are,
That war against your own affections,

And the huge army of the world's desires.

Blest are those,

Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please: Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.-Something too much of this.

A man, whose blood

Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense;
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge

With profits of the mind, study and fast.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

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