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And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg.

Give me thy arm.

Poor Tom shall lead thee.

EDGAR'S DESCRIPTION OF DOVER CLIFF.

COME on, sir; here's the place!-stand still.-How fearful

And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice: and yon' tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high :-I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

LEAR REMEMBERS HOW HE WAS FLATTERED WHEN IN

AUTHORITY.

THEY flatter'd me like a dog; and told me I had the white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say ay, and no, to every thing I said!-Ay and no too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are not men o' their words: they told me I was every thing; 't is a lie; I am not ague-proof.

SINS DIFFERENTLY ACCOUNTED IN THE POOR AND IN

THE RICH.

WHAT, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: Change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? And the creature run from the cur? There

thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog's
obeyed in office.-The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do

appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.

CORDELIA SYMPATHIZES IN HER FATHER'S SUFFERINGS.

O MY dear father! Restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss

Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challenged pity of them.

Was this a face
To be opposed against the jarring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder;
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross-lightning, to watch (poor perdu!)
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.

A LUCID INTERVAL, IN WHICH LEAR SEEMS TO RECOGNISE HIS YOUNGEST DAUGHTER CORDELIA.

PRAY, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish, fond old man,

Fourscore and upward; not an hour more nor less:
And, to deal plainly,

I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man ;
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have.
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

LEAR ANTICIPATES

COMFORT IN PRISON FROM THE

PRESENCE OF HIS DAUGHTER.

COME, let's away to prison;

We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down
And ask of thee forgiveness: So we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues

Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,—
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out,—
And take upon us the mystery of things,

As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

ROMEO'S FIRST SIGHT OF JULIET.

O, SHE doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

ROMEO, UNOBSERVED, SEES JULIET AT THE BALCONY.

HE jests at scars that never felt a wound.

But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.-
She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses: I will answer it.—

I am too bold.-O, were those eyes in heaven,
They would through the airy region stream so bright,

That birds would sing, and think it were the morn.-
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET MAKES A CONFESSION OF HER LOVE.

THOU know'st the mask of night is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke. But farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs.

O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse,
and say
thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's passion; therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discover'd.

FRIAR LAURENCE DESCANTS ON THE VIRTUES OF HERBS

THE grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path, and Titan's fiery wheels:
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours,

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find:

Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs,-grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,

Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

JULIET'S IMPATIENCE FOR THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.

GALLOP apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately.—

Come, civil night,

Thou sober-suited matron, all in black:

Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day in night! For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

ROMEO'S FLATTERING DREAM.

IF I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand :
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;

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