And more a friend than e'er an enemy;
Yet, Marcius that was much. Your hand!

Most welcome!

CORIOLANUS, A. 4, s. 5.

THE GUILTY SOUL IN FEAR. GIVE me another horse,-bind up my wounds,Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft; I did but dream.— O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No;-Yes; I am: Then fly, What, from myself? Great reason: Why?

Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?
I love myself. Wherefore? for any good,
That I myself have done unto myself?

O, no: alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well:-Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree,
Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all,-Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair.-There is no creature loves me;
And, if I die, no soul will pity me:

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.

Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd

Came to my tent: and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night

Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers,
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To hear if any mean to shrink from me.

K. RICHARD III., A. 5, s. 3.

THE HANGMAN'S COMFORT.

BUT the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-0, the charity of a penny cord! it sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge:Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.

Of heat and cold; he was nor sad nor merry. CLEO. O well-divided disposition! - Note him,

Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him:

He was not sad; for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his: he was not merry;
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy: but between both :
O heavenly mingle!-Be'st thou sad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes;

So does it no man else.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, A. 1, s. 5.

THE HAPPY MEDIUM.

HE were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid-way between him and Benedick; the one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, A. 2, s. 1.

THE HEAD NO MATCH FOR THE

ISABELLA.

ANGELO.

HEART.

Must he needs die ?

Maiden, no remedy.

ISAB. Yes; I do think that you might pardon

him,

And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. ANG. I will not do't.

ISAB.

But can you, if you would?

ANG. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISAB. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,

If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse, As mine is to him?

ANG.

He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. ISAB. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again: Well, believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been so stern. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel? should it then be thus ? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner.

ANG. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words.

ISAB. Alas! alas! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.

ANG. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,

It should be thus with him; he must die to

morrow.

ISAB. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him:

He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our

kitchens

We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven

With less respect than we do minister

To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you:

Who is it that hath died for this offence?
There's many have committed it.

ANG. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:

Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man that did the edict infringe,
Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.

ISAB.

Yet show some pity.

ANG. I show it most of all, when I show justice;

For then I pity those I do not know,

Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right, that, answering one foul

wrong,

Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;

Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

ISAB.

So you must be the first, that gives

this sentence;

And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,