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Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
* Showy ornaments.
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
15 See, how the blood is settled in his face! Of have seen a timely-parted ghost,* Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. But, see, his face is black, and full of blood; His eyeballs farther out than when he lived, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man: [gling; His hair upreard, his nostrils stretch'd with strugHis hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdued. Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. It cannot be, but he was murder'd.
I was born so high,
24-i. 3. 17
New honours come upon him Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.
18 I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; And, from that full meridian of my glory,
* A body become inanimate in the common course of nature; to which violence has not brought a timeless end.
I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
I have ventured,
I know myself now; and I feel within me
26-ii. 3. 21
His greatness was no guard
33-ii. 4. 22
Mine honour was not yielded, But conquer'd merely.
23 Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind* exceeds the compass of her wheel.
23-iv. 3. 24
My name is lost;
34-v. 3. * In his mind; as far as his own mind goes.
Though now this grain* face of mine be hid
29— ii. 1.
34_iv. 6. 29 Poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. 10-i. 3.
I shall do so;
Famine is in thy cheeks,
My May of life Is fall'n into the sear,* the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.
33 My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart, shows That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
34 Thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.--Is man no more than this? Consider him well: Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
34jii. 4. 35
Thou art e'en as just a man
Nay, do not think I flatter: