ACT V.

A LOVER IN SOLITUDE.
How use doth breed a habit in a man!

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This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And, to the nightingale's complaining notes,
Tune my distresses, and record* my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was!
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!

LOVE UNRETURNED.

What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look? O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'dt, When women cannot love where they're belov'd.

INFIDELITY IN A FRIEND.

Who should be trusted now, when one's right
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, [hand
I am sorry, I must never trust thee more,
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest.

REPENTANCE.
Who by repentance is not satisfied,
Is nor of heaven nor earth.

INCONSTANCY IN MAN.

O heaven! were man * Sing.

+ Felt, experienced.

But constant, he were perfect: that one error
Fills him with faults.

WINTER'S TALE.

ACT I.

YOUTHFUL INNOCENCE. We were, fair queen, Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i’the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd, Was innocence for innocence; we know not The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd That any did: Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd

heaven Boldly, Not guilty; the imposition clear'd, Hereditary ours*.

FONDNESS OF A FATHER FOR HIS CHILD.

Leon. Are you so fond of your young prince Do seem to be of ours?

[as we Pol.

If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine

enemy:
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick

my

blood. * Setting aside original sin.

JEALOUSY.

Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible Of breaking honesty): horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes

blind With the pin and web*, but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that 's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these If this be nothing.

[nothings,

REGICIDES DETESTABLE.

To do this deed, Promotion follows: If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings, And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't.

ACT II. KNOWLEDGE SOMETIMES HURTFUL. There may be A spidert steep'd, and one may drink; depart, And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge Is not infected: but if one present The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known

How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts*.

ELOQUENCE OF SILENT INNOCENCE.
The silence often of pure

innocence Persuades, when speaking fails.

EXPOSING AN INFANT.

Come on, poor babe: Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say, Casting their savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity.

ACT III.

INNOCENCE.
Innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience.

DESPAIR OF PARDON.

But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. DESCRIPTION OF A GHOST APPEARING IN A DREAM. I have heard (but not believ'd) the spirits of the dead

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May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill’d, and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me:
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
of my poor babe, according to thine oath,-
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe

,
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
I pr’ythee call’t; for this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more :—and so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this.

THE INFANT EXPOSED. Poor wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd To loss, and what may follow!—Weep, I cannot, But

my heart bleeds : and most accurs’d am I, To be by oath enjoin'd to this.—Farewell! The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have A lullaby too rough.