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Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, *
Leave not a rackt behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.


I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour, that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project; Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their

ears, Advanc'u their eyelids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music; so I charm'd their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briers, sharp surzes, pricking goss, and

thorns, Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them ?? the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins.


Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall.



His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eavest of reeds. COMPASSION AND CLEMENCY SUPERIOR TO REVENGE.

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions? and shall not myself,

* Vanished.

† A body of clouds in motion; but it is most probable that the author wrote track.


One of their kind, that relish all as sharply.
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the

Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury
Do I take part: the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further.


Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and

groves; And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid (Weak masters though you be) I have bedimm'd The noon-tide sun, called forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and risted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art.

The charm dissolves

And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.

O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir,
To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act:

[blood. ou’rt pinch'd for’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and

You brother mine, that entertained ambition,
Expelled remorse* and nature; who; with Sebastian,
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kill'd our king; I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art !—Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores,
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them,
That yet looks on me, or would know me.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back, I do fly,

After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.



IF Music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.-
That strain again; it had a dying fall:
0, it came o’er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.

0, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when ihe rich golden shalt,
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections el
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,

* Pity, or tenderness of heart.

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, (Her sweet perfections) with one self king!


I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the wave,
So long as I could see.

Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound
And all is semblative a woman's part.


Oli. Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons* of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night:
Holla your name to the reverberatet hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.


Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnanti enemy dors much,
How easy is it, for the proper-salses
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
* Cantos, verses.

† Echoing.
* Dexteroids, ready fiend. $ Fair deceiver.

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For such as we are made of, such we be,


Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
For, such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd.

Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,
Than women's are.

Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain:
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
Are the free maids, that weave their thread with

Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age. I

Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

0, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true

Did share it.
Not a Hower, not a dower sweet,
On my black cotiin let there be strown;
* Lace. inakers.

4 Simple truth. Times of simplicity.

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