« ForrigeFortsæt »
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
prince; If you choose that, then I am yours withal. Mor. Some God direct my judgment! Let
me see, I will survey the inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket ? Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. Must give—For what?" for lead ? hazard for lead? This casket threatens: Men, that hazard all, Do it in hope of fair advantages : A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
the silver, with her virgin hue ? Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. As much as he deserves ?- Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand : If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady; And yet to be afeard of my deserving, Were but a weak disabling of myself. As much as I deserve !- Why, that's the lady: I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding; But more than these, in love I do deserve. What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? — Let's see once more this saying grav’d in gold : Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. Why, that's the lady: all the world desires her: From the four corners of the earth they come, To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia :
! Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form
lie there, Then I am yours.
[He unlocks the golden casket.
All that glisters is not gold;
outside to behold : Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you
been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscrold : Fare you
suit is cold.
well ; your
Cold indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost.Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit. Por. A gentle riddance :- -Draw the cur
tains, go ; Let all of his complexion choose me so.
MERCHANT OF VENICE, A. 2, s. 7.
ANALOGY OF HUMAN LIFE. THERE is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased : The which observ’d, a man may prophecy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life; which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time; And, by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess, That great Northumberland, then false to him, Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness; Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.
K. HENRY IV., PART II., A. 3, s. 1.
ANATHEMA AGAINST ABUSE OF
It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,
TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 3, s. 1.
ANATHEMA AGAINST MURDER. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I a while obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb’d by the self-same hand that made these
wounds! Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes :O, cursed be the hand, that made these holes ! Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives !
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
K. RICHARD III., A. 1, s. 2.
ANATHEMA OF JEALOUSY. O, AY; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed! Who art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet, That the sense aches at thee.-'Would thou
had'st ne'er been born!
OTHELLO, A. 4, s. 2.