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And I did never ask it you again:
And with my hand at midnight held your
Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Is there no remedy?
None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven!--that there were but a mote in A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, [yours, Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boist❜rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
PERFECTION ADMITS OF NO ADDITION.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish*, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
In this, the antique and well-noted face
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
THE COUNTENANCE OF A MURDERER.
This is the man should do the bloody deed; The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast.
A STRUGGLING CONSCIENCE.
The colour of the king doth come and go, Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: And when they talk of him they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear;
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
THE EVIL PURPOSES OF KINGS TOO SERVILELY
It is the curse of kings, to be attended
To understand a law; to know the meaning
A VILLAIN'S LOOK, AND READY ZEAL.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quotedt, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed;
* Deliberate consideration.
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
As bid me tell my tale in express words; [off, Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
A MAN IN TEARS.
Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks: My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Strike up the drums: and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest.
Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
APPROACH OF DEATH.
It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.
MADNESS OCCASIONED BY POISON,
Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;