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Page 88 - Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification : Listen. Dirge. Hark, now every thing is still ; The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill, Call upon our dame aloud, ' And bid her quickly d'on her shroud.
Page 45 - CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Page 89 - Not a whit. What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With diamonds ? or to be smothered With cassia ? or to be shot to death with pearls ? I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits ; and 'tis found They go on such strange geometrical hinges You may open them both ways : any way (for Heaven's sake) So I were out of your whispering.
Page 82 - The birds that live i' the field On the wild benefit of nature live Happier than we ; for they may choose their mates, And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.
Page 306 - Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.
Page 65 - Are forc'd to express our violent passions In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path Of simple virtue, which was never made To seem the thing it is not.
Page 60 - He's very valiant. This foul melancholy Will poison all his goodness ; for, I'll tell you, If too immoderate sleep be truly said To be an inward rust unto the soul, It then doth follow want of action Breeds all black malcontents ; and their close rearing, Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing. Delio. The presence 'gins to fill : you promised me To make me the partaker of the natures Of some of your great courtiers. Ant. The lord cardinal's, And other strangers' that are now in court ?...
Page 74 - Ant. He is so quiet that he seems to sleep The tempest out, as dormice do in winter: Those houses that are haunted are most still Till the devil be up.
Page 96 - Julia. Are you so far in love with sorrow You cannot part with part of it ? or think you I cannot love your grace when you are sad As well as merry ? or do you suspect I, that have been a secret to your heart These many winters, cannot be the same . Unto your tongue? Card. Satisfy thy longing, The only way to make thee keep my counsel Is, not to tell thee.