Authority.

Because Authority, the' it err like others, Hath yet a kind of Medicine in itself,

That skins the Vice o' th' top: Go to your Bofom, Knock there, and ask your Heart what it doth know That's like my Brother's Fault; if it confess

A natural Guiltiness, such as is his,

Let it not found a Thought upon your Tongue
Against my Brother's Life.

Ifab. Ibid.

The Force of Beauty.

1

What's this? What's this? Is this her Fault, or mine?
The Tempter, or the tempted, who fins moft? Ha?
Not fhe; nor doth the tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the Violet in the Sun,

Does as the Carrion does, not as the Flower,
Corrupt with virtuous Season. Can it be,
That Modefty may more betray our Senfe,
Than Woman's Lightness ?

Simile.

The State whereon I ftudied,

Is like a good thing, being often read,

Angelo. Ibid.

Grown fear'd, and tedious.

Place and Form.

Oh Place! Oh Form!

Ang. Ibid.

How often doft thou with thy Cafe, thy Habit,

Wrench Awe from Fools, and tie the wifer Souls

To thy falfe feeming?

Ang, Ibid.

A

A Simile on the Prefence of the Belov'd.

Oh Heav'ns!

Why does my Blood thus mufter to my Heart,
Making it both unable for itself,

And difpoffeffing all my other Parts
Of neceffary fitness?

So play the foolish Throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the Air

By which he should revive; and even fo
The general Subjects to a well-wifh'd King
Quit their own part, and in obfequious Fondness
Crowd to his Prefence, where their untaught Love
Muft needs appear Offence.
Angelo. Ibid.

Womens Frailty.

Aye, as the Glaffes where they view themselves!
Which are as cafie broke, as they make Forms.
Women! Help Heav'n; Men their Creation mar
In profiting by them. Nay, call us Ten times frail;
For we are folt, as our Complexions are,
And credulous to falfe Prints.

Unequal Privilege of Power.

O perilous Mouths,

Ifab. Ibid.

That bear in them one and the self-fame Tongue,
Either of Condemnation or Approof;

Bidding the Law make Curtefie to their Will,
Hooking both Right and Wrong to th' Appetite,
To follow as it draws. I'll to my Brother;
Tho' he hath fallen by Prompture of the Blood,
Yet hath he in him fuch a Mind of Honour,
That had he twenty Heads to tender down
On twenty bloody Blocks, he'd yield them up.

Ifab. Ibid.

Life

Life and Death.

Reason thus with Life;

If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing

That none but Fools would keep; a Breath thou art,
Servile to all the Skiey Influences;

That doft this Habitation where thou keep'ft
Hourly afflict Meerly thou art Death's Fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy Flight to fhun,
And yet run'ft tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not Noble
For all th' Accommodations that thou bear'st,

Are nurs'd by Bafenefs: Thou'rt by no means Valiant :
For thou doft fear the foft and tender Fork
Of a poor Worm. Thy beft of Reft is Sleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft, yet grofly fear'ft
Thy Death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thy felf;
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand Grains
That iffue out of Duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou striv❜ft to get,
And what thou haft, forgett'ft. Thou are not certain,
For thy Complexion shifts to strange Effects,
After the Moon. If thou art rich, thour't poor;
For like an Afs, whofe Back with Ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy Riches but a Journey,
And Death unloadeth thee. Friend haft thou none;
For thine own Bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The meer Effufion of thy proper Loins,

Do curfe the Gout, Serpego, and the Rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft norYouth,nor Age;
But, as it were, an after-dinner's Sleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed Youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the Alms
Of paified-Eld; and when thour't old, and rich,
Thou'ft neither Heat, Affetion, Limb, nor Beauty
To make thy Riches pleafant. What's yet in this
That bears the Name of Life? Yet in this Life
Lie hid more thousand Deaths; yet Death we fear,
That makes thefe Odds all Even.

Duke. Ibid.

Death.

Dar'ft thou Die?

Death.

The Senfe of Death is moft in Apprehension;
And the poor Beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal Suffering finds a Pang as great,
As when a Giant dies.

Ifab. Measure for Measure:

On the fame.

Aye, but to Die, and go we know not where.
To lye in cold Obstruction, and to rot;
This fenfible warm Motion, to become
A kneaded Clod; and the delighted Spirit
To bathe in fiery Floods, or to refide
In thrilling Regions of thick-ribbed Ice,
To be imprifon'd in the view-lefs Winds,
And blown with restless Violence round about
The pendant World; or to be worse than worst
Of thofe, that lawless and incertain Thought
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible!

The wearieft and most loathed worldly Life,
That Age, Ach, Penury or Imprisonment
Can lay on Nature, is a Paradife

To what we fear of Death.

Virtue and Goodness.

Claud. Ibid.

Virtue is bold, and Goodness never fearful. Duke. Ib.

Calumny.

No Might nor Greatness in Mortality

Can Cenfure scape: Back-wounding Calumny
The whiteft Virtue ftrikes. What King so strong

Can tie the Gall up in the flanderous Tongue? Duke. Ib.

Place

Place and Greatness.

Oh Place and Greatnefs! Millions of falfe Eyes
Are stuck upon thee: Volumes of Report
Run with these false and moft contrarious Quests
Upon thy Doings: Thoufand Efcapes of Wit
Make thee the Father of their idle Dreams,
And rack thee in their Fancies.

Man's Preheminence.

Duke. Ibid.

There's nothing fituate under Heav'n's Eye,
But hath its bound in Earth, in Sea, and Sky:
The Beafts, the Fishes, and the winged Fowls,
Are their Male's Subjects, and at their Controuls:
Man more divine, the Mafter of all thefe,
Lord of the wide World, and wide watry Seas,
Indu'd with intellectual Senfe and Soul,
Of more Preheminence than Fish and Fowl
Are Mafters to their Females, and their Lords:
Then let your Will attend on their Accords.

Jealousy.

Luciana.

Comedy of Errors.

Aye, aye Antipholis, look ftrange and frown;
Some other Mistress hath fome fweet Alpects.
I am not Adriana, nor thy Wife.

The time was once, when thou, unurg'd, wouldft vow,
That never Words were Mufic to thine Ear,
That never Object pleafing in thine Eye,
That never touch was welcome to thy Hand,
That never Meat sweet-favour'd to thy Taste,

Unless I fpake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carvid to thee.

Adriana. Ibid.