Obe. My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st Since once I sat upon a promontory, Puck. And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, I remember. At a fair vestal, thronéd by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon; In maiden meditation, fancy-free.1 Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's wound, - Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee oi ce; Will make or man or woman madly dote Theseus. 1 Queen Elizabeth. 76. The Power of Imagination. — Act. V. Sc. 1. I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold — That is the madman: the lover, all as frantic, The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Such tricks hath strong imagination; That, if it would but apprehend some joy, K. Philip. And will again commit them to their bonds And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, [Tearing off her head-dress. When there is such disorder in my wit. Brah. Brak. Clar. From KING RICHARD III. 78. Clarence's Dream. - Act. I. Sc. 4. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me. And was embarked to cross to Burgundy; And in my company my brother Gloster: Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches; there we looked toward England, That had befallen us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, O Lord methought what pain it was to drown! All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Brak. Clay Brak. Clar. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. I passed, methought, the melancholy flood LAM The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who spake aloud, -"What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanished: Then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud, "Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury; -Seize on him, furies, take him unto torment!" With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howléd in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise I trembling waked, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Clar. Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Wol. From KING HENRY VIII. 79. Wolsey and Cromwell. Act III. Sc. 2. And, when he thinks, good easy man, full suroly - And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride * Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. Crom Wol. What, amazed How does your grace? Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities, Why, well; A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, A load would sink a navy, too much honor. O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. |