My fleet have yielded to the foe; and yonder
They cast their caps up, and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 't is thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee.-Bid them all fly;
For when I am revenged upon my charm,

I have done all ;-Bid them all fly, begone. [Exit Scarus. O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:

Fortune and Antony part here; even here

Do we shake hands. All come to this ?-The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets,
On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am :
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home;
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end;
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil❜d me to the very heart of loss.

ANTONY RESOLVES ON SUICIDE.

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me?

Eros. Ay, noble lord.

Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish ; A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion,

A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,

A forked mountain, or blue promontory

With trees upon 't, that nod unto the world,

And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these signs;

They are black vesper's pageants.

Eros. Ay, my lord.

Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a thought, The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct,

As water is in water.

Eros. It does, my lord.

Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen,-
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine;
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto 't
A million more, now lost,-she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Cæsar, and false play'd my glory

Unto an enemy's triumph.

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros! there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

A ROOM IN THE GARTER INN.

Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, I say,

Bard. Here, Sir.

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown into the Thames? Well, if I be served such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a New-Year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter; and you may know, by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as Erebus, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow;-a death that I abhor; for the water swells a man; and what a thing should I have been, when I had been swelled! I should have been a mountain of mummy.

THE PRETENDED FAIRIES' SONG.

Fal. Oh, oh, oh!

Mrs. Quickly. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;

And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.

Evans. It is right; indeed he is full of lecheries and iniquity.

Song.

Fye on sinful fantasy!
Fye on lust and luxury!
Lust is but a bloody fire,

Kindled with unchaste desire,

Fed in heart; whose flames aspire,

As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.

Pinch him, fairies, mutually;

Pinch him for his villany;

Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out.

THE TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU

WILL.

MUSIC THE FOOD OF LOVE.

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.-
That strain again; it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour.-Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,

That it alone is high-fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?

Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purged the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

THE DUKE REQUESTS THE CLOWN TO REPEAT HIS SONG.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night :Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain :

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, Sir?

Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing.

Song.

Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

prepare

it;

My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown :
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,

To

weep there.

THE TEMPEST.

FERDINAND AND MIRANDA CONFESS THEIR MUTUAL

PASSION.

Fer. No, noble mistress; 't is fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,)

What is your name?

Mira. Miranda :-O my father,

I have broke your hest to say so!
Fer. Admir'd Miranda!

Indeed, the top of admiration; worth

What 's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
I have eyed with best regard; and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
Have I liked several women; never any

With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,
And put it to the foil: But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.

Mira. I do not know

One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father: how features are abroad,
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty,
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

ALONSO CONSCIENCE-SMITTEN FOR HIS FORMER OFFENCE TOWARDS PROSPERO.

Pro. [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated,
In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life,
And observation strange, my meaner ministers
Their several kinds have done: my high charms work,
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up

In their distractions: they now are in my power;
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit

Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,)
And his and my loved darling.

[Exit Prospero.

Gonzalo. I' the name of something holy, Sir, why stand

you

In this strange stare?

Alon. O, it is monstrous! monstrous!
Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass.
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded; and
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded,
And with him there lie mudded.