Imatges de pÓgina


'Tis all men's office to speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,

To be so moral, when he shall endure

The like himself: therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement.


Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words.

A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.
1 pray thee, cease thy counsel
Which falls into mine ears as profitless

As water in a sieve.

You have mis-led a Prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman, in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied, and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him.

Love all, trust a few,

Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues


Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade.

Thy honourable metal may be wrought
From that it is dispos'd: therefore 'tis meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes:
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep

As watchman to my



The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

I know thee not, old man fall to thy prayers:
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
Youth no less becomes

The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,
Importing health, and graveness.

O, Sir, you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty :
For in my youth I never did apply

Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.

These old fellows have

Their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom 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.
O, let us have him; for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds;
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear,
But all be bury'd in his gravity.

I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but in their stead,

Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.


What's the business,

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak ;-


'Tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face :
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.

I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other side.

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

Men at some time are masters of their fates :
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign,
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.

Examples, gross as earth, exhort me
Witness, this army, of such mass, and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince;

Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg shell.

That is a step,

On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,
For in my way it lies.

Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o'the milk of human kindness,

To catch the nearest way; Thou would'st be great; Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st


That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false,
And yet would'st wrongly win.

Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule,
And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.

Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

I have ventur'd,

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 open'd: O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

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