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Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
A GOOD DEED COMPARED.
How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
NOTHING GOOD OUT OF SEASON.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended; and I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a' musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection!Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak'd !
This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick,
Ask me no reason why I love you; for though love use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor: You are not young, no more am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you are merry, so am I; Ha! ha! then there's more sympathy: You love sack, so do I; Would you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee. Mistress Page, (at the least, if the love of a soldier can uffice), that I love thee. I will not say, pity me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, love me. By me,
Thine own true knight,
For thee to fight. John Falstaff Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very words: What doth he think of us?
ACT III. .
FALSTAFF HID IN THE BASKFT.
Mrs. Ford. What shall I do?- There is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril: I had rather than a thousand pound, he were out of the house.
Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had rather, and you had rather; your husband's here at hand, bethink you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot hide him.—0, how have you deceived me!.-Look, here is a basket; if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking: Or, it is whiting time, send him by your two men to Datchet Mead.
Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What shall I do?
Enter Falstaff. Let me see't, let me see't! ( let me see't! I'll in, I'll in;- follow your friend's counsel ;—I'll in.
Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?
Fal. I love thee, and none but thee; help me away: let me creep in here; I'll never(He goes into the basket; they cover him with foul linen.
Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: Call your men, inistress Ford:-You dissembling knight!
Enter FALSTAFF disguised, with a buck's head on. The Windsor vell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on: Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy horns.-0 powerful love! that, in some respects, makes a beast a man; in some other, a man a beast.—You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda ;-0, omnipotent love! how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose?-A fault done first in the form of a beast;-0 Jove, a beastly fault; and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think on’t, Jove; a foul fault.When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest:—Who comes here?
Midsummer Night's Dream.
A FATHER'S AUTHORITY,
A RECLUSE LIFE.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
TRUE LOVE EVER CROSSED.
For aught that ever I could read,