Imágenes de páginas
[ocr errors]

Hideg yourself, to like of: but I prattle
jouething too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

I am, in my condition,
A prince, Miranda, I do think, a king:
(I would, not so!) and would no more enduro
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth,—Hear my sout

The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,
Am I this patient log-man.

Do you love me?
Fer. O heaven, 0 earth, bear witness to this sound,
And crown what I profess with kind event,
If I speak true; if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me, to mischief! 1,
Beyond all limit of what else* i’ the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

I am a fool,
To weep at what I am glad of.

Fair encounter
Of too most rare affections! Heaven's rain grace.
On that which breeds between them!

Wherefore weep you? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning And prompt me, plain and holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me: but I'll be your servant, Whether


will or no. Fer.

My mistress, dearest,
And I thus humble ever.

My husband then!
Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing

* Whatsoever.

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.
Mira. Ånd mine, with my heart in t; Anů now

Till half an hour hence.

A thousand! thousand!


0, it is monstrous ! monstrous!
Methought, the billows spoke and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
The name of Prosper.

If thou dost break her virgin knot before
All sanctimonious ceremonies may
With full and holy rite be minister'd,
No sweet aspersion* shall the heavens let fall
To make this contract grow; but barrer hate,
Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
shall hate it both.

As I hope
For quiet days, fair issue and long life,
With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den,
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion
Our worser genius can, shall never melt
Mine honour into lust; to take away
The edge of that day's celebration,
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd,
Or night kept chain'd below.

Look, thou be true; do not give dalliance ..
Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw
To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious.
Or else, good night, your vow!

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

* Sprinkling,

[ocr errors]

Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, *
Leave not a rackt behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.


I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour, that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project; Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their

ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music; so I charm’d their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and

thorns, Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them l' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins.

LIGHTNESS OF FOOT. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall.



His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eavest of reeds. COMPASSION AND CLEMENCY SUPERIOR TO REVENGE.

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions? and shall not myself,

* Vanished.

† A body of clouds in motion; but it is most probable that the author wrote track.


One of their kind, that relish all as sharply. Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the

quick, Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer artiou is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further.


Ye elves of hills, brooks, stinding lakes, and

groves; And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid (Weak masters though you be) I have bedimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds: And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war: to the dread, rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have wak’d their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art.


The charm dissolves apace,
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.

O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir,
To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act:
Thov'rt pinch'd fort now, Sebastian. Flesh and


You brother mine, that entertained ambition,
Expell’d remorse* and nature; who, with Sebastian,
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kill'd our king; I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art!—Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores,
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them,
That yet looks on me, or would know me.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back, I do fly,

After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.



IF Music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die. -
That strain again; it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.



0, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,

pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft,
Hatu killed the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,

* Pity, or tenderness of heart.

[ocr errors]
« AnteriorContinuar »