Kent. Where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful element: Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,

Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,

That things might change, or cease; tears his white

hair;

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,

Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:

Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn

The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain.

This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf

Keep their fur dry, unbonnetted he runs,

And bids what will take all.

* Whose dugs are drawn dry by its young.

LEAR'S EXCLAMATIONS IN THE TEMPEST.

Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing* fires,

Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack Nature's moulds, all germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!

Rumble thy bellyfull! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription; why then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man :—
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

DESCRIPTION OF DOVER CLIFF.

Come on, sir; here's the place:—stand still.- How fearful And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows,

and choughs,§ that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; deadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon' tall anchoring bark

*Quick as thought. § Daws.

‡ Obedience.

Avant couriers, French.
A vegetable gathered for pickling.

L

Diminish'd to her cock;* her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high:-I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

CORDELIA ON THE INGRATITUDE OF HER SISTERS.

O my dear father! Restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face
To be exposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning?

And wast thou fain, poor father,

To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
"Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.

LEAR TO CORDELIA, WHEN TAKEN PRISONERS.

No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison :
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage :
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues

Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,-
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out;
And take upon us the mystery of things,

As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,

In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

THE JUSTICE OF THE GODS.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us.

LEAR ON THE DEATH OF CORDELIA.

Howl, howl, howl, howl!-O, you are men of stones; Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so

That heaven's vault should crack:-O, she is gone for
I know when one is dead, and when one lives; [ever!-
She's dead as earth.-Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why then she lives.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.

Kent.

O my good master!

Lear. Pr'ythee, away.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!

[Kneeling.

I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!-
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!

What is't thou say'st ?-Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low.

MACBETH.

MACBETH'S TEMPER.

Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;

Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

And yet wouldst wrongly win.