Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is fecond childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.
As You Like It, A. 2. Sc. 5.
I'm never merry, when I hear sweet mufic.
The reafon is, your fpirits are attentive;
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
(Which is the hot condition of their blood)
If they perchance but hear a trumpet found,
air of mufic touch their ears,
You fhall perceive them make a mutual stand ;
Their favage eyes turn'd to a modeft gaze,
By the fweet power of mufic. Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, ftones, and foods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But mufic for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no mufic in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of fweet founds,
Is fit for treafons, ftratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his fpirits are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus;
Let no fuch man be trusted.
The Merchant of Venice, A. 5. Sc. I.
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it; that, furfeiting,
The appetite may ficken, and fo die.
That strain again ;-it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the fweet fouth,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour !
Twelfth Night, A. 1. Sc. 1.
NEWS-TELLER S.
I saw a smith ftand with his hammer, thus,
The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a taylor's news;
Who, with his fhears and measure in his hand,
Standing on flippers, which his nimble hafte
Had falfely thrust upon contrary feet,
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent.
Another lean unwafh'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
King John, A. 4. Sc. 2.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in fhallows, and in miferies.
On fuch a full fea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it ferves,
Julius Cæfar, A. 4. Sc. 3.
OLD AGE.
-It is as common to Old Age
To caft beyond itself in its opinions,
As it is common for the younger fort
-O, when degree is shak'd,
Which is the ladder to all high defigns,
The enterprize is fick !
Troilus and Creffida, A. 1. Sc. 3.
PERSEVERANCE.
For Time is like a fashionable hoft,
That flightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch'd as he would fly, Grafps in the comer: Welcome ever fmiles,
And Farewell goes out fighing.
Troilus and Creffida, A. 3. Sc. 3.
PERSONAL VIRTUE.
That is honour's fcorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the fire. Honours beft thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive,
Than our fore-goers: the mere words a flave,
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,
Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones, indeed.
All's Well that Ends Well, A. 2. Sc. 3.
-Reason thus with life:
I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing
That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences
That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict: merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet run'ft tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by bafenefs: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou doft fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grosly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself;
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou striv❜st to get; And what thou haft forget'ft. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to ftrange effects
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend haft thou none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,
Do curfe the gout, ferpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth,
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb,. nor beauty
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
Meafure for Meafure, A. 3. Sc. 1.
PRODIGIES RIDICULED.
The earth shook to see the heav'ns on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Difeafed nature oftentimes breaks forth
In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming Earth
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vext,
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
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