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Page 18 - 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.
Page 33 - At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give ; and much less take, What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
Page 15 - Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt.
Page 29 - Be absolute for death ; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep.
Page 18 - Alas, alas ! Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once ; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy.
Page 29 - For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou art by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.
Page 32 - Admired 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...
Page 50 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 12 - From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty ; As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint; our natures do pursue (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) A thirsty evil ; and when we drinK, we die.
Page 50 - You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack...