Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,— The present eye praises the present object; THE QUALITY OF MERCY. FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE." The quality of mercy is not strained; And earthly power doth then show likest God's Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE." How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. : Sit, Jessica look, how the floor of heaven "I am never merry when I hear sweet music." You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, ENGLAND. FROM "RICHARD II." This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Eng-¦ And, in the calmest and most stillest night, land. This dear, dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world. With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king?-Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. SONG FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT." O mistress mine! where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter: HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, . And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Oh, thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile I The alarm of danger was communicated by the watchman In zarrison towns by a bell. "He had a case or box to shelter Liu from the weather." DETACHED PASSAGES FROM THE PLAYS. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be checked for silence, But never taxed for speech. The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, Are still together; who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, shall within this hour, On a dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, And interjoin their issues. So it falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it; but being lacked and lost, Why then we rack the value; then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us, There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out, For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry : Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all; admonishing, That we should dress us fairly for our end. Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself. O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honorable Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume To wear an undeservéd dignity. Oh that estates, degrees, and offices, Were not derived corruptly! and that clear honor John Webster. Webster (circa 1570-1640) and Thomas Dekker were partners in writing plays. Webster also wrote for the stage independently, and ranks among the chief of the minor Elizabethan tragic dramatists. Charles Lamb said of the following dirge from "The White Devil," that he knew nothing like it, except the ditty that reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father, in "The Tempest." "As that is of the water watery, so this is of the earth earthy." A DIRGE. Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And, when gay tombs are robbed, sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again. FROM "THE DUCHESS OF MALFI.” This tragedy turns on the mortal offence which the duchess gives to her two proud brothers by indulging in a generous though infatuated passion for Antonio, her steward. Cariola. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas! What will you do with my lady? Call for help. Duchess. To whom? to our next neighbors? They are mad folks. Farewell, Cariola. I pray thee look thou giv'st my little boy What death? Bosola. Strangling. Here are your executioners. The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs, Bos. Doth not death fright you? Bos. Yet, methinks, The manner of your death should much afflict you: This cord should terrify you. Duch. Not a whit. What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls? So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers I would fain put off my last woman's fault; Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength Yet stay heaven gates are not so highly arched Must go upon their knees. Come, violent death, [They strangle her, kneeling. Sir Robert Ayton. A Scottish courtier and poet, Ayton (1570-1638) enjoyed, like Drummond, the advantages of foreign travel, and of acquaintance with English poets. He was born in Fifeshire. Ben Jonson seemed proud of his friendship, for he told Drummond that Sir Robert loved him (Jonson) dearly. An edition of Ayton's poems was published as late as 1871. ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. I loved thee once, I'll love no more; Thine be the grief, as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before: What reason I should be the same? He that can love unloved again Hath better store of love than brain: God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away. Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, That if thou might elsewhere inthrall; When new desires had conquered thee, It had been lethargy in me, Yea, it had been a sin to go Since we are taught no prayers to say Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice of his good fortune boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost; The height of my disdain shall be To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging to a beggar's door. Alexander Hume. Hume (circa 1560-1609) was a minister of the Scotch Kirk in the latter half of the seventeenth century. He published in Edinburgh, in 1599, a collection of " Hymns, or Sacred Songs," of which now only three copies are known to exist. The "Story of a Summer Day" has some precious passages, showing an original vein, but it is much too long. Campbell and Trench have both abridged it, and the same liberty has been taken in the following version. Hume died in 1609. All laborers draw home at even, And can to other say, "Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Which sent this summer day!" Thomas Heywood. The dates of this writer's birth and death are unknown. He is found writing for the stage in 1596, and he continued to exercise his ready pen down to the year 1640. He lived in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I. He had, as he informs his readers, "an entire hand, or at least a main finger," in two hundred and twenty plays. He wrote, also, several prose works, besides attending to his businesss as an actor. Of his plays only twenty-three have come down to us; and among the best is "The Woman killed with Kindness." He seems to have been a man of genius; and his "Search after God" is a very noble poem, showing that, in his higher moods, the true spirit of poesy animated the humble playwright. FANTASIES OF DRUNKENNESS. FROM "THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER." This gentleman and I Passed but just now by your next neighbor's house, Of ships and storms at sea; when, suddenly, The room wherein they quaffed to be a pinnace, To cast their lading overboard. At this, All fall to work, and hoist into the street, As to the sea, what next came to their handStools, tables, tressels, trenchers, bedsteads, cups, Pots, plate, and glasses. Here a fellow whistles; They take him for the boatswain: one lies strug gling |