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These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
But words are words; I never yet did hear,
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears?
A flourish, trumpets!-strike alarum, drums!
It was the copy of our conference :
When he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
To this dead
Friends, I owe more tears,
You think I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep. Though I have full cause of weeping, This heart shall break into a thousand flaws,
Or e'er I weep.
I did not think to shed a tear
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
What I should say,
My tears gainsay: for every word I speak,
Then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew
Patience and sorrow strove
Which should express her goodliest. You have seen Sun-shine and rain at once: Those happy smiles That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
But all my mother came into my mine eyes,
Command these fretting waters from your eyes
Το weep at what I am glad of.
I am a fool,
Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep.
Touch me with noble anger!
O, let not woman's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks!
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge for me!
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
The tyranny of th' open night's too rough
The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his
purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretels a tempest, and a blustering day.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion, and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will, take all.
Let the great Gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
Unwipt off justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
Singe my white head! And thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness,
Alas, Sir! are you here? things that love night,
And make them keep their caves: since I was man,
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The wind-shak'd surge, with high, and monstrous main,
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole:
On the enchafed flood.
Thanks, to men
Of noble minds, is honourable meed.
Ever more thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves.