It is a pretty youth;-Not very pretty;

But sure he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him ;
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him

Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue

Did make offence, his eye did heal it up:

He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well;
There was a pretty redness in his lip;
A little riper, and more lusty red

Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

There be some women, Sylvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near

To fall in love with him; but for my part,

I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love him :
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said my eyes were black, and my hair black,
And now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me;

I marvel why I answer'd not again,

But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,

And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Sylvius?

VIOLA, (DISGUIS'D IN LOVE WITH ORSINO.) Vio. My father had a daughter lov'd a man

Ors.
Vio.

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

And what's her history?

A blank, my lord: she never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm 'i 'th' bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?

A LOVE-SICK SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.
Ah, well-a-day! how long must I endure
This pining pain? Or, who shall speed my cure?
Fond love no cure will have; seeks no repose;
Delights in grief, nor any measure knows.
Lo! now the moon begins in clouds to rise,
The brightening stars bespangle all the skies,
The winds are hushed. The dews distil; and sleep
Hath clos'd the eye-lids of my weary sheep.
I only with the prowling wolf constrain'd
All night to wake. With hunger he is pain'd,
And I with love. His hunger he may tame;
But who can quench, O cruel love! thy flame?
Whilom did I, all as this popular fair,
Up-raise my heedless head, devoid of care;
'Mong rustic routs the chief for wanton game;
Nor could they merry make till Lubin came.

Who better seen than I in shepherd's arts,
To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts?
How deftly to my oaten reed so sweet,

Wont they upon the green to shift their feet!
And wearied in the dance, how would they yearn,
Some well-devis'd tale from me to learn?
For many a song, and tale of mirth, had I
To chase the loitering sun adown the sky.
But ah! since Lucy coy deep wrought her spight
Within my heart, unmindful of delight,

The jolly youths I fly; and all alone

To rocks and winds pour forth my fruitful moan.
Oh! leave thy cruelty, relentless fair;

E'er lingering long, I perish through despair,
Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,

Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind.
O think, unwitting maid! while yet is time,
How flying years impair thy youthful prime!.
Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,

And flowers, though left ungather'd, will decay,
The flowers, anew returning seasons bring;
But faded beauty has no second spring,

-my words are wind! she, deaf to all my cries,
Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes.

HELENA, PINING FOR LOVE OF DEMETRIUS.
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay,
Demetrius loves you, Fair; Ŏ happy fair!

Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air
More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear,
Sickness is catching; O were favour so!
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;

My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being hated,

The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look'; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

ADMIRATION.

ADMIRATION, a mixed passion, consisting of wonder, with love, or esteem, takes away the familiar gesture, and expression of simple love (see Love). Keeps the respectful look, and attitude (see Modesty and Veneration); the eyes are opened wide, and now and then raised towards heaven. The mouth is opened. The hands are lifted up; The tone of voice rapturous. This passion expresses itself copiously, making great use of the figure hyperbole.

PRINCE JUBA IN PRAISE OF MARCIA.
The virtuous Marcia, towers above her sex;
True she is fair, O, how divinely fair!

But still the lovely maid improves her charms,

By inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, and sanctity of manners
Cato's soul shines out in every thing she acts and speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles,
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace,
Soften the rigour of her father's virtues!

COMUS, AFTER LADY SINGING THE ECHO SONG.
Can any mortal mixture of Earth's mould,
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness, till it smiled! I have oft heard
My mother Circé, with the Syrens three,
Amid the flowery-kirtled Naiads,

Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs;
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul
And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause :
Yet they in peaceful slumber lull'd the sense,
And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,

I never heard 'till now. I'll speak to her,

And she shall be my queen. Hail foreign wonder,
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,
Unless the goddess that in rural shrine

Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan, by blest song,
Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog

To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.

ADAM TO EVE, ON SEEING THE ANGEL RAPHAEL APPROACH.
Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight, behold,
Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape
Comes this way moving; seems another morn
Risen or mid-noon: some great behest from heaven
To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe
This day to be our guest. But go with speed,
And what thy stores contain, bring forth, and pour
Abundance, fit to honour and receive

Our heavenly stranger: well may we afford
Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow
From large bestow'd, where nature multiplies
Her fertile growth, and by disburd'ning grows
More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare.

WONDER.

WONDER, or Amazement (without any other interesting passion, as love, esteem, &c.) opens the eyes, and makes them

appear very prominent; sometimes raises them to the skies; but oftener, and more expressively, fixes them on the object, if the cause of the passion be a present and visible object, with the look, all except the wildness of fear, (see Fear.) If the hands hold any thing, at the time, when the object of wonder appears, they immediately let it drop, motionless; and the whole body fixes in the contracted, stooping posture of amazement; the mouth open: the hands held up open, nearly in the attitude of fear (see Fear.) The first access of this passion, stops all utterance; but it makes amends afterwards by a copious flow of words and exclamations. In the latter case, it expresses itself like surprise or astonishment.

WONDER.

Wonder is curious fear-suppose by night,

Some pale met spectre cross'd the moon's dim light,
Sudden the back'ning blood retreating swift,
Swells the press'd heart;—each fibre fails to lift,
Lost in short pause-arrested motion lies,
And sense climbs doubtful to the straining eyes.

SIMPLE WONDER, OR AMAZEMENT.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man?
How passing wonder He, who made him such?
Who center'd in our make such strange extremes,
From different natures marvellously mix'd,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in beings endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam etherial, sullied and absorb'd!
Though sullied and dishonour'd; still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! O frail child of dust!
Helpless Immortal! Insect infinite!

A worm! a God !-I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost! at home a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surpriz'd, aghast
And wond'ring at her own: how reason reels !
O what a miracle to man, is man,

Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported, and alarm'd!

What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave:
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

WONDER, SURPRIZE, ASTONISHMENT.

CONSTANCE, ON KING JOHN'S AND LEWIS'S RECONCILIATION.
Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace

False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces ?

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

What means that hand upon that breast of thine ?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad sighs conformers of thy words?
Then speak again : not all thy former tale,
But this one word-whether thy tale be true?

SALISBURY ON FINDING PRINCE ARTHUR MURDERED.
Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
Or, have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,

That you do see? Could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest
Of murder's arms; This is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagry, the vilest stroke,

That ever wall-ey'd Wrath, or starving Rage,
Presented to the tears of soft Remorse.

MACBETH MEETING THE WITCHES.
-What are these?

So wither'd and so wild in their attire!

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet live on't? Live you? or are you ought

That man may question? You seem to understand me,

By each at once her choppy fingers laying

Upon her skinny lips ;-You should be women;
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

That you are so ?—

Speak if you can ;—What are you?

THE CAMELION DESCRIBED.

A stranger animal, cried one,
Sure never liv'd beneath the sun;
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd!
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue!

WONDER MIX'T WITH PLEASURE.

FERDINAND IN THE ENCHANTED ISLAND.

Where should this music be? I' th' air, or i' th' earth?
It sounds no more :-and sure it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This music crept by me upon the waters;