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Sometimes her head on one side, some another
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very

sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I laye thrice bow'd before me.
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
I prythee, callt; for this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more:-and so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and

thought This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys. Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this.


Poor wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus exposid To loss, and what may follow !--Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I, To be by oath enjoin'd to this.-Farewell! The day frowns more and more; thou art like .

have A lullaby too rough.

A CLOWN'S DESCRIPTION OF A WRECK. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it ra. ges, how it takes up the shore! but that's not to the point: 0, the most pitious cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast; and anon swallowed

with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service, To see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his name was An


tigonus, a nobleman;-But to make an end of the ship:-to see how the sea flap-dragoned* it:- but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather.

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Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour,t all the winter long;
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,-
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Oftrembling winter,--the sairest flowers o'the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?

Forf I have heard it said,
There is an art, which, in their pieduess, shares
With creating nature.

Say, there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock;
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but
The art itself is nature.

['ll not put

* Swallowed + Likeness and smell. Because that.

The dibble* in earth to set one slip of them;
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say, 'twere well; and only there-

Desire to breed by me.--Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, majoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age.


Cam. I should leave grazing, were 1 of your flock, And only live by gazing. Per.

Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through.-Now my

fairest friend, I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing:-O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis'st wagon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phæbus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er.

A LOVER'S COMMENDATION, What you do, Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;

* A tool to set plants. + Pluto.


Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function: Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
I'hat all your acts are queens.

He says, he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,
As twere, my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose,
Who loves another best.

fol. How now, fair shepherd? Your heart is full of something, that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, And handed love, as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it To her acceptance; you have let him go, And nothing marted* with him; if your lass Interpretation should abuse; and call this Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straitedt For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. Flo.

Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are:

The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd.-0, hear me breath my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand, As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, That's boltedt by the northern blasts twice o'er. * Bought, trafficked. † Put to difficulties.

The sieve used to separate flour from bran is called a bolting-cloth.


Pol. Methinks, a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more:
Is not your father grown incapable
or reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and altering rheums? "Can he speak?

Know man from man? dispute his own estate?*
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,
But what he did being childish?

No, good sir:
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: Reason, my son
Should choose himself a wise: but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair pusterity,) should hold some counsel
In such a business.

RURAL SIMPLICITY. I was not much afeard. for once, or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. LOVE CEMENTED BY PROSPERITY, BUT LOOSENED BY


Prosperity's the very bond of love; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.

ACT V. WONDER, PROCEEDING FROM SUDDEN JOY. There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked, as they had heard of a world ransoméd, or one destroyed: A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest

* Talk over his affairs.

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