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I thank you.-By yon bush?—Pray, how far thi
ther? 'Ods pittikins* !—can it be six miles yet? (sleep. I have gone all night:—'Faith, I'll lie down and But, soft! no bedfellow:-0, gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't.—I hope, I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave keeper, And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so; 'Twas but a boltt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good I tremble still with fear: But if there be [faith, Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A ROUTED ARMY.
No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely thro' fear; that the strait pass was damm'di With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame. * This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity. + An arrow.
I Blocked up
1, in mine own woe charm’d, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly
monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.
In the most high and palmy* state of Rome,
graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist start, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
GHOSTS VANISH AT THE CROWING OF A COCK.
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
+ The moon.
The extravagant and erring* spirit hies
THE REVERENCE PAID TO CHRISTMAS TIME.
It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say,
that ever 'gainst that season comes, Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholsome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone, my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within, which passeth show; These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,
To give these mourning duties to your father;
the most vulgar thing to sense,
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE.
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve* itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canont 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, (ture, That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in naPossess it merely.. That it should come to this! But two months dead!—Nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem|| the winds of heaven Dissolve. + Law. * Entirely.
$ Apollo. | Suffer.
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
THE EXTENT OF HUMAN PERFECTION.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
CAUTIONS TO YOUNG FEMALES.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Then weigh what loss your
may sustain, If with too credent* ear you listt his
songs: Or lose your heart: or your chaste treasure open * Believing
+ Listen to.