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Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

THE ABBESS CHIDES ADRIANA FOR HER JEALOUS SUSPICIONS OF HER HUSBAND.

Abb. Be quiet, people; Wherefore throng you hither?
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence :
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast,
And bear him home for his recovery.

Abb. How long hath this possession held the man?
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, and sad,
And much, much different from the man he was;
But, till this afternoon, his passion

Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea? Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?

A sin prevailing much in youthful men,
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last;
Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home.
Abb. You should for that have reprehended him.
Adr. Why, so I did.

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.

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Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me.
Abb. Haply, in private.

Adr. And in assemblies too.

Abb. Ay, but not enough.

Adr. It was the copy of our conference:
In bed, he slept not for my urging it;
At board, he fed not for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
In company, I often glanced it;

Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad :
The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing:
And thereof comes it that his head is light.

Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings:
Unquiet meals make ill digestions,

Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;

And what's a fever but a fit of madness?

Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls:
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy;

(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;)
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd would mad or man or beast:
The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

TIMON FLATTERED BY FALSE FRIENDS.

1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.

Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: How had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should never have need of them? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for them; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you.

We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 't is, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere it can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you.

CYMBELINE.

IMOGEN PARTING WITH HER HUSBAND POSTHUMUS.

Imo. My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing

(Always reserved my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of

angry eyes; not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world, That I may see again.

Post. My queen! my mistress!

O lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man; I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence in Rome at one Philario's ;
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall:

Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Post. How! how! another?—
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!-Remain thou here

[Putting on the ring.

And sweetest, fairest,

While sense can keep it on!
As I
my poor self did exchange for you,

To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles

I still win of you: for my sake, wear this;

It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet on her arm. Imo. O the gods!

When shall we see again?

PISANIO DELIVERS A LETTER TO IMOGEN WHICH HE
RECEIVED FROM HER HUSBAND.

Pis. Please you read;

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.

I

Imo. [Reads.]"Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath been false to my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. speak not out of weak surmises; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven ; she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.”

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.-No, 't is slander ;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie

All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam?
Imo. False to his bed! What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed,
Is it?

Pis. Alas, good lady!

THE LAMENT OF ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE.

WITH fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor

The azured hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the rudduck would,
With charitable bill, (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.

SONG OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

FEAR no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee !
Nothing ill come near thee!

Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

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