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By heaven, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd
To fay what good refpect I have of thee.

I am much bounden to your majesty.

King JOHN.

Good friend, thou haft no cause to say so yet,-
But thou fhalt have-and creep time ne'er so flow,
Yet it fhall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to fay-but, let it go :

The fun is in the heav'n, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gaudes,
To give me audience. If the midnight bell
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this fame were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that furly spirit melancholy

Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy thick,
Which else runs trickling up and down the veins,

Making that idiot laughter keep men's eyes,

And ftrain their cheeks to idle merriment ;

(A paffion hateful to my purposes)

Or if thou couldest see me without eyes,

Hear me without thine ears, and make reply


Without a tongue, ufing conceit alone,

Without eyes, ears, and harmful found of words;
Then, in despight of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bofom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heav'n, And, as Imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to fhape, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

Midfummer Night's Dream

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