From “King Henry Eighth,” Act III. Sc. 1.
ORPHEUS, with his lute, made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing;
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung, as sun and showers
There had made a lasting Spring....
|
From “The Merchant of Venice,” Act V. Sc. 1.
LORENZO.—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,...
|
From “Patient Grissell,” Act I. Sc. 1.
ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden...
|
I Weigh not fortune’s frown or smile;
I joy not much in earthly joys;
I seek not state, I reck not style;
I am not fond of fancy’s toys:
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.
I quake not at the thunder’s crack;...
|
From “Farewell to Follie,” 1617
SWEET are the thoughts that savor of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent,—
The poor estate scorns Fortune’s angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such...
|
From “Valentinian”
COME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies, that from thence
I may feel an influence,
All my powers of care bereaving!
Though but...
|
From “Astrophel and Stella”
COME, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
The indifferent judge between the high and low,
With shield of proof shield me from out...
|
From “Second Part of Henry IV.,” Act III. Sc. 1.
KING HENRY.—How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!—O sleep! O gentle sleep!
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my...
|
This figure, 1 that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the Graver had a strife
With Nature to outdo the life:
O, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he hath hit
His face; the Print would then surpass...
|
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
While I confess thy writings to be such
As neither man nor Muse can praise too much.* * * * *
Soul of the age!
The applause...
|
|
|
