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And death unloads thee: friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowls, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,

Do curse the gout, serpigo,* and the rheum,

:

For ending thee no sooner thou hast not youth nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,

Dreaming on both for all thy blessed youth

Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

VIRTUE AND GOODNESS.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

GREATNESS SUBJECT TO CENSURE.

O place and greatness, millions of false eyes
Are struck upon thee! volumes of report
Run with these false and most contrarious quests
Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes of wit

Make thee the father of their idle dream,

And rack thee in their fancies.

RESOLUTION FROM A SENSE OF HONOUR.

Why give me this shame ?

Think you I can a resolution fetch

From flowery tenderness? If I must die,

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Leprous eruptions.

+ Old age

Sallies.

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Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where,

To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:

This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts

Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible!

The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY.

Now, by two-headed Janus,

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;

And other of such vinegar aspect,

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

WORLDLINESS.

You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care.

CHEERFULNESS.

Let me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish?

THE WORLD'S TRUE VALUE.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage, where every man must play a part.

THE JEW'S EXPOSTULATION.

Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usances :*
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe;
You call me-misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,

And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well, then, it now appears you need my help :
Go to, then; you come to me and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies: you say so,
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,

With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this-

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last,
You spurned me such a day, another time

You call'd me-dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much monies!

A GOOD DEED COMPARED.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

* Interest.

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THE JEW'S MALICE.

Bass. This is signior Antonio.

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him, for he is a Christian :

But more, for that, in low simplicity,

He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.

If I can catch him once upon the hip,

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

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