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BUT thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure ?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the scene prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.



O HOPE, Sweet flatterer, whose delusive touch
Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort;
Relieves the load of poverty; sustains
The captive bending with the weight of bonds,
And smoothes the pillow of disease and pain;
Send back th' exploring messenger with joy,
And let me hail thee from that friendly grove.



POISON be their drink!

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste!
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
Their sweetest prospects murd'ring basilisks!
Their softest touch as smart as lizard's stings!
Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss!
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors of dark-seated hell.

Henry VI.


He is my bane, I cannot bear him;

One heaven and earth can never hold us both;
Still shall we hate, and with defiance deadly
Keep rage alive till one be lost for ever;

As if two suns should meet in one meridian,
And strive in fiery combat for the passage.—Rowe.


Kent.-Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honoured as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master followed-
Lear.-Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent. Be Kent unmannerly when Lear is mad.
What wouldst thou do, old man? Reverse thy doom;
Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

Lear. Hear me, rash man!—on thy allegiance hear me.
Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow,
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,)
We banish thee for ever from our sight

And kingdom. If, when three days are expired,
Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment is thy death.-Away!

By Jupiter, this shall not be revoked.

King Lear.


My liege, I did deny no prisoners,
But I remember when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner;

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon


gave his nose, and took't away again ;-
Who, therewith angry when it next came there,
Took it in snuff-and still he smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them-untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holiday and lady terms,

He questioned me: among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then all smarting with my wounds, being gall'd
To be so pestered with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience

Answer'd neglectingly-I know not what

He should, or should not; for he made me mad,

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds (heav'n save the mark!)

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth,
Was parmacity for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly as I said,

And I beseech you, let not his report,
Come current for an accusation,

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.-Henry IV.


If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. Merchant of Venice.


I KNOW not: if they speak but truth of her
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.

Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life 'reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends

To quit me of them thoroughly.

Much Ado about Nothing.


Он, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!



ALIVE! in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
Away to heaven respective lenity,

And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!-
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again
That late thou gav'st me! for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads
Staying for thine to keep him company,
And thou, or I, or both, shall follow him.

Romeo and Juliet.


WHEREFORE rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
Oh, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew ye not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,

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