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Look, here he comes And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for! Arv.
The bird is dead
O sweetest, fairest lily!
Stark,t as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. Gui.
O'the floor; His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted broguest from off my feet, whose rudeAnswer'd my steps too loud.
Why, he but sleeps;
With fairest flowers,
* Slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel. + Still # Shoes plated with iron. § The red-breast.
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
rotting "Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. Gui.
Pray you, fetch him hither,
Nor the furious winter's
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
Consigng to thee, and come to dust.
+ Punished. Judgment.
§ Seal the same contract.
With To die
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
[Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't. I hope, I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so; 'Twas but a boltf of nothing, shot at nothing,
IN Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes, Are sometimes like our judgments, blind, good faith, I tremble still with fear: but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As, a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A litt The
GHO Ber. Hor
A ROUTED ARMY.
No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
* This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity.
† An arrow.
Whet The e
To hit This
Merely through fear; that the straight pass was
damm’d* With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame.
I, in mine own wo charm’d, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly mon
ster, "Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.
IN the most high and palmyt state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun'; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
GHOSTS VANISH AT THE CROWING OF A COCK.
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
† Victorious. # The moon.
THE REVERENCE PAID TO CHRISTMAS TIME,
that ever'gainst that season comes
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone, my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitsul river in the cye, Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of gries, That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that with hich passeth show; These, but the trappna and the suits of wo.
IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Ham
let, To give these mourning duties to your father; But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost his; and the survivor bound In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow: But to persevere In obstinate condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to heaven: A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what, we know, must be, and is as common, As
any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we, in our peevish opposition,