YORK. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Fear of Death. King Richard II. Act V. sc. 2. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; The weariest and most loathed worldly life, Measure for Measure, Act III. sc. 1.7 Perseverance. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,. Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way, For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where but one goes abreast: Keep, then, the path; That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Or, like a gallant horse, fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; For Time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, Grasps in the comer; Welcome ever smiles, And Farewell goes out sighing,// Oh! let not Virtue seek High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating Time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin— More laud than gilt o'erdusted: The present eye raises the present object. Troilus and Cressida, Act III. sc. 3. The quality of mercy is not strained; Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then shew likest God's, Merchant of Venice, Act IV. sc. 1. The Forest of Arden. DUKE, senior, AMIENS, and other Lords. DUKE. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang. And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, This is no flattery: these are counsellors Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head: And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,, I would not change it! AMIENS. Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style! DUKE. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? [ And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads, Have their round haunches gored. FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; Y And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp DUKE. But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralise this spectacle? FIRST LORD. O yes, into a thousand similes. 'Tis right,' quoth he; thus misery doth part And never stays to greet him: Ay,' quoth Jaques, As You Like It, Act II sc. 1 The World Compared to a Stage. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion: Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Ibid. Act II. sc. %. Oberon's Vision. OBERON. My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, ou a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, PUCK. I remember. OBE. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon; In maiden ineditation, fancy-free. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's wound- Fetch me that flower; the herb I shewed thee once; Will make or man or woman madly dote PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth Midsummer Night's Dream, Act. II. sc. 2. BEN JONSON. The second name in the dramatic literature of this period has been generally assigned to BEN JONSON, though some may be disposed to claim it for the more Shakspearian genius of Beaumont and Fletcher. Jonson was born nine years after Shakspeare-in 1573-and appeared as a writer for the stage in his twentieth year. His early life was full of hardship and vicissitude. His father, a clergyman in Westminster-a member of a Scottish family from Annandale-died before the poet's birth, and his mother marrying again, Ben was brought from Westminster School, and put to the employment of his stepfather, which was that of a bricklayer. Disliking the occupation, Jons n enlisted as a soldier, and served in the Low Countries. He is reported to have killed one of the enemy in single combat, in the view of both armies, and to have otherwise distinguished himself for his youthful bravery. a poet, Jonson alterwards reverted with pride to his conduct as a soldier. On his return, he is said to have entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay there must have been short-if he As a ever was enrolled of the university-for, about the age of twenty, he is found married, and an actor in London. Ben made his debut at a low theatre near Clerkenwell, and, as his opponents afterwards reminded him, failed completely as an actor. At the same time, he was engaged in writing for the stage, either by himself or conjointly with others. He quarrelled with another performer, and on their fighting a duel with swords, Jonson had the misfortune to kill his antagonist, and was severely wounded himself. He was committed to prison on a charge of murder, but was released without a trial. On regaining his liberty, he commenced writing for the stage, and produced, in 1595, his Every Man in his Humour.' The scene was laid in Italy, but the characters and manners depicted in the piece were English; and Jonson afterwards recast the whole, and transferred the scene to England. In its revised form, Every Man in his Humour' was brought out at the Globe Theatre in 1598, and Shakspeare was one of the performers in the play. He had himself produced some of his finest comedies by this time, but Jonson was no imitator of his great rival, who blended a spirit of poetical romance with his comic sketches, and made no attempt to delineate the domestic manners of his countrymen. Jonson opened a new walk in the drama; he felt his strength, and the public cheered him on with its plaudits. Queen Elizabeth patronised the new poet, and ever afterwards he was man of mark and likelihood. In 1599, appeared his Every Man out of his Humour,' a less able performance than its predecessor. 'Cynthia's Revels and the Poetaster' followed, and the fierce rivalry and contention which clouded Jonson's after-life seem to have begun about this time. He had attacked Marston and Dekker, two of his brother-dramatists, in the 'Poetaster.' Dekker replied with spirit in his Satiromastix,' and Ben was silent for two years, 'living upon one Townsend, and scorning the world,' as is recorded in the diary of a contemporary. In 1603, he tried if tragedy had a more kind aspect,' and produced his classic drama of Sejanu.' Shortly after the accession of King James, a comedy called Eastward Hoe' was written conjointly by Jonson, Chapman, and Marston. Some passages in this piece reflected on the Scottish nation; and the matter was represented to the king by one of his courtiersSir James Murray-in so strong a light, that the authors were thrown into prison, and threatened with the loss of their ears and noses. They were not tried; and when Ben was set at liberty, he gave an entertainment to his friends---Selden and Camden being of the number. His mother was present on this joyous occasion, and she produced a paper of poison, which, she said, she intended to have given her son in his liquor, rather than he should submit to personal mutilation and disgrace, and another dose which she intended afterwards to have taken herself. The old lady must, as Whalley remarks, have been more of an antique Roman than a Briton. Jonson's own conduct in this affair was noble and spirited. He had no considerable |