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Bel.

Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for!
Arv.

The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turn’d my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.
Gui.

O sveetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel.

0, melancholy
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare*
Might easiliest harbour in?- Thou blessed thing:
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou died’st a most rare boy ol' melancholy !
How found you him?
Arv.

Stark,t as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh’d at: his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. Gui.

Where? Arv.

O'the floor; His arms thus leagu’d: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted broguest from off my feet, whose rudeAnswer'd my steps too loud.

[ness Gui.

Why, he but sleeps;
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And wornis will not come to thee.
Arv.

With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell like thy veins: no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetend not thy breath; the ruddocks would
With charitable bill (o bill, sore-shaming
Slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.

Stiff. roes plated with iron. § The red-breast.

*

Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this; 11
Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground* thy corse.
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for

Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paidt for that: Though mean and mighty,

rotting Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction or place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. Gui.

Pray you, fetch him hither,
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

FUNERAL DIRGE.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censuref rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers, young, all lovers must

Consignş to thee, and come to dust. * Probably a corrupt reading for wither round thy corse.

† Punished. # Judgment.

§ Seal the same contract.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

IMOGEN AWAKING.

Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; Which is the way? I thank you-By yon bush?--Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins !*-can it be six miles yet? I have gone all night:Faith, I'll lie down and sleep, 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 faith, I tremble still with fear: but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, sear'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.

ACT V.

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

* This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity.

+ An arrow.

Merely through fear; that the straight pass was

damm’d* With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame.

DEATH.

I, in mine own wo charm’d, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly mone

ster, '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.

HAMLET.

ACT I.

PRODIGIES.

IN the most high and palmyt state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The 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 star, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.

GHOSTS VANISH AT THE CROWING OF A COCK.
Ber. It was about to speak when the cock crew.

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn,
Doth with his sty and shrill sounding throat'
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and errings spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.ll
* Blocked up

+ Victorious, * The moon. & Wandering !! Proof.

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 wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

MORNING.

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

REAL GRIEF.

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 gries,
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 wo.

IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hare

let,
To give these mourning duties to your father;
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to persevere
En obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven:
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common;
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,

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