When rather from our acts we them derive,
Than our fore-goers: the mere words a flave,
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,
Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones, indeed.
All's Well that Ends Well, A. 2. Sc.
PREPARATION FOR DEATH.
-Reafon thus with life:
I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences
That do this habitation, where thou keep❜ft,
Hourly afflict: merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to shun,
And yet run'ft tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'ft,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself;
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou ftriv'ft to get;
And what thou haft forget'ft. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend haft thou none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,
Do curfe the gout, ferpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth,
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
Meafure for Meafure, A. 3. Sc, I.
PRODIGIES RIDICULED.
The earth fhook to fee the heav'ns on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming Earth
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vext,
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb; which, for enlargement ftriving, Shakes the old beldam Earth, and topples down
High tow'rs and mofs-grown fteeples.
Henry IV. Part I. A. 3. Sc. 1.
The sense of death is most in apprehenfion;
'And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.
Meafure for Meafure, A. 3. Sc. 1.
RESPECT OF THE WORLD.
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lofe it, that do buy it with much care.
The Merchant of Venice, A. 1. Sc. 2.
I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these fame metre ballad-mongers.
I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree;
And that wou'd nothing fet my teeth on edge,
Nothing fo much as mincing poetry:
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a fhuffling nag.
Henry IV. Part I. A. 3. Sc. 1.
RUMOUR.
Rumour is a Pipe,
Blown by furmifes, jealoufies, conjectures;
And of fo eafy and so plain a stop,
That the blunt monster, with uncounted heads,
The ftill difcordant wavering multitude,
Henry IV. Part II. A. 1. Sc. 2.
With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil,
That broker, that still breaks the pate of Faith,
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word Maid, cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,
Commodity, the biafs of the world,
The world, which of itself is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground:
'Till this advantage, this vile drawing biafs,
This fway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take heat from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent.
King John, A. 2. Sc. 6.
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter
As level as the cannon to his blank
Tranfports his poison'd shot.
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd fleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, fore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's fecond course,
Chief nourisher in life's feaft..
Why rather, Sleep, ly'st thou in fmoaky cribs,
Upon uneafy pallets ftretching thee,
And husht with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of coftly ftate,
And lull'd with founds of sweetest melody?
King Henry IV. A. 3. Sc. 1.
SPECULATION AND PRACTICE.
The brain may devife laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree; fuch a hare is Madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of Good Counsel the cripple! The Merchant of Venice, A. 1. Sc. 2.
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