Enter PORTIA and NERISSA at a distance. Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. Ner. When the moon shone we did not see the candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. How many things by season season'd are TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Act iii., sc. ii. Pandarus' Orchard. Tro. Oh, that I thought it could be in a woman (As, if it can, I will presume in you) To feed for aye her lamps and flames of love; 1 Or that persuasion could but thus convince me, Might be affronted with the match and weight Oh virtuous fight, Tro. When right with right wars, who shall be most right! True swains in love shall, in the world to come, Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes, Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Want similes, truth, tired with iteration, As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centreYet, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited, As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, Cres. Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing; yet let memory, From false to false, among false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said-as false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son; Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, CYMBELINE. Act iv., sc. ii. Before the Cave. Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms. Bel. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, The bird is dead, Arv. Gui. Oh, melancholy! Bel. The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy! Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Gui. Arv. Where? O' the floor; His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept: and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud. Why, he but sleeps: Gui. With fairest flowers, Arv. I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Act i., sc. iii. A Room in Polonius' House. Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: And, sister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you. Oph. Do you doubt that? Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, Oph. Laer. No more but so? Think it no more: For nature, crescent, does not grow alone Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now; The virtue of his will: but you must fear, He may not, as unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves you, It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, As he in his particular act and place May give his saying deed: which is no further Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart; but, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Laer. Oh, fear me not I stay too long. But here my father comes. Enter POLONIUS. A double blessing is a double grace; |