mind;

hate.

her, Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,

With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,

And what they undid, did.

PLYING THE SERPENT TO
HER BREAST.

GIVE me my robe, put on my crown;

I have

Immortal longings in me: now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:

Yare, yare, good Iras; quick-Methinks
I hear

Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act: I hear him mock
The luck of Cæsar, which the gods give

THE FOOL IN THE FOREST.
As You Like It.

A FOOL, a fool!—I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool-a miserable world!-
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in
the sun,

And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms

In good set terms-and yet a motley fool. "Good morrow, fool," quoth I-"No, Sir," quoth he,

"Call me not fool, till heaven have sent

me fortune: "

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says, very wisely, "it is ten o'clock: Thus may we see," quoth he, how the world wags:

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 't will be eleven ; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,

Unwillingly to school. And then, the Lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a Soldier;

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

the Justice,

In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on

side;

His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

SHYLOCK'S REMONSTRANCE WITH ANTONIO.

The Merchant of Venice.

SIGNIOR Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies and my usances:
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
For sufferance is the badge of all our
tribe;

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,

And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears you need my help:

Go to then; you come to me, and you

And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; monies is your suit; What should I say to you? should I not say

"Hath a dog money? is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats?"

or

Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key,

With bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this,

"Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last:

You spurn'd me such a day; another time

You call'd me-dog; and for these courtesies

I'll lend you thus much monies?'

CHEERFULNESS.

LET me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles

come;

And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into
the jaundice
By being peevish?

THE DECEIT OF APPEARANCES. THE world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false

As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their

chins