Bel. Look, here he comes 'The bird is dead And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Arv. Gui. Bel. O, melancholy Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare* Might easiliest harbour in?--Thou blessed thing: Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I, Thou died'st a most rare boy of melancholy!How found you him? Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Gui. Arv. Where? 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. Gui. Why, he but sleeps; If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee. [ness With fairest flowers, Arv. I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack *Slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel. † Stif § The red-breast. Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground* thy corse. * * Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: 'Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither, Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. FUNERAL DIRGE. Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: As chimney-sweepers come to dust. To thee the reed is as the oak: * Probably a corrupt reading for wither round thy † Punished. corse. + Judgment. § Seal the same contract. Gui. No exorciser harm thee! IMOGEN AWAKING. Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; Which is the way? I thank you-By yon bush?--Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!*-can it be six miles yet? I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep, And cook to honest créatures: But 'tis not so; I tremble still with fear: but if there be As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! ACT V. A ROUTED ARMY. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling *This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity. An arrow. Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd* With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living DEATH. 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 monster, '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. HAMLET. ACT I. PRODIGIES. IN the most high and palmyf state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, GHOSTS VANISH AT THE CROWING OF A COCK. Ber. It was about to speak when the cock crew. Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring§ spirit hies To his confine: and of the truth herein This present object made probation.|| * Blocked up. § Wandering. THE REVERENCE PAID TO CHRISTMAS TIME. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. MORNING. But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. REAL GRIEF. 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 fruitful river in the Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, eye, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These, but the trapping and the suits of wo. IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Ham To give these mourning duties to your father; To do obsequious sorrow: But to persevere |