If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep a breath thou art, (Servile to all the skiey influences,) That do this habitation, where thou keep'st, Yet run'st toward him still: thou art by no means valiant; Of a poor worm; thy best of rest is sleep, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, Forending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner sleep, Dreaming on both! for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou'rt old, and rich. What's yet in this To make thy riches pleasant. Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear, All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, the soldier, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice: And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts MERCY. The quality of mercy is not strained; Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, MOONLIGHT. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Sit, Jessica look, how the floor of heaven There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims: Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. |