Besides, this Duncan Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7. I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE. SHAKESPEARE. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue nor heart SHAKESPEARE. Confusion now hath made his master-piece. Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 2. THE HARDENED CRIMINAL. I have almost forgot the taste of fear. The time has been, my senses would have quailed Put out the light, and then put out the light. To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir, I can again thy former light restore, As life were in 't. Should I repent me; but once put out thy light, I have supped full with horThou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat, That can thy light relume. When I have plucked thy rose rors: Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies: Widow's Tears. CHAPMAN. SHAKESPEARE. For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 1. SUICIDE. All mankind Is one of these two cowards; CHAUCER. SHAKESPEARE. Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE. When he should live, or live when he should die. The Blind Lady. SIR R. HOWARD. Our enemies have beat us to the hip: Julius Cæsar, Act v. Sc. 5. SHAKESPEARE. He That kills himself t' avoid misery, fears it, The Maid of Honor. P. MASSINGER, ироп Here rests his Head n'd not 072 & sincere; Q Recompense ds to Misry all, he had, a gave, gain" d from leavin Itwas all he wish'd) a Friend No farther seek his Meries to disclose Or draw his Frailties from their dread Mode. Thave they alike in trembling Ho The Bosom of his Father, & his God. se repose Fyray. Heav'h did -agency exagram Ана had yet. The even flow of life en in; Harks ! To the belling bells wae. Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help, In vain, within their seven-hilled towers! I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem, And struck a darker, deeper dye In the purple of their majesty, And bade my Northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine. My course is run, my errand done Of glory that adorns my name; And Roman hearts shall long be sick, When men shall think of Alaric. My course is run, my errand done; And in the caves of vengeance, wait; And soon mankind shall blench away Before the name of Attila. EDWARD EVERETT. THE COMPLEYNTE OF CHAUCER TO HIS PURSE.* To you, my purse, and to noon other wight For certes, but-yf ye make me hevy chere, Me were as leaf be layde upon my bere, For whiche unto your mercy thus I crye, Beeth hevy ageyne, or ellès mote I dye! Now voucheth sauf this day, or it be nyghte, Now, purse, that ben to me my lyves lyght * "From this unique petition," says Mr. Gilman in his "Riverside" Chaucer, “there seems to have resulted an additional pension of forty marks a year, on the strength of which Chaucer took a lease. of a house in the garden of St. Mary's Chapel, Westminster, for fifty-three years, at an annual rent of two pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence, the lease to be void on the poet's death." So that the practical results of this poetical plaint show that Chaucer well described one of his own characteristics in his description of the MARCHANT, among his Canterbury Pilgrims, — "This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette [used].' + guide. |
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