The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

ORL. O good old man; how well in thee appears

The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat, but for promotion;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.-
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here liv'd I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at fourscore, it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

AS YOU LIKE IT, ▲. 2, s. 3.

THE BABBLER.

A GENTLEMAN that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, that he will stand to in a month.

ROMEO AND JULIET, A. 2, s. 4.

THE BALANCE.

'Tis in ourselves, that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens; to the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it steril with idleness, or manur'd with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call-love, to be a sect or scion.

OTHELLO, A. 1, s. 3.

THE BEAUTIFUL IN ART.

How this grace

Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.

It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch; Is't good? I'll say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 1.

THE BIGOTRY OF VIRTUE

A BRAVE fellow!-he keeps his tides well. Timon, Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill.

Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner,
Honest water, which ne'er left man i'the mire;
This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds.
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
APEMANTUS'S GRACE.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man, but myself:
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond,
Or a harlot, for her weeping;
Or a dog, that seems a sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 2.

THE BIRD'S COURAGE SOMETIMES GREATER THAN MAN'S.

WISDOM! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? He loves us

not;

He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,

Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

МАСВЕТИ, л. 4, 5. 2.

THE BOURNE FROM WHENCE NO

IN

TRAVELLER RETURNS.

peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here, are no storms,

No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.

TITUS ANDRONICUS, A. 1, s. 2.

THE BROKEN-HEARTED SOLDIER.
BE witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!-

O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night let fall upon me;
That life, a very rebel to my will,

May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to
powder,

And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver, and a fugitive:

O Antony! Antony!

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, A. 4, s. 9.

THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort? ISABELLA. Why, as all comforts are; most good in deed:

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift embassador,
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger:
Therefore your best appointment make with
speed;

To-morrow you set on.

CLAUD.

Is there no remedy?

ISAB. None, but such remedy, as, to save a

head,

To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUD.

But is there any ?
ISAB. Yes, brother, you may live;
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

CLAUD.

Perpetual durance ? ISAB. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had,

To a determin'd scope.

CLAUD.

But in what nature?

ISAB. In such a one as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,

And leave

CLAUD.

you naked.

Let me know the point. ISAB. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension;