Imatges de pÓgina
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The extravagant and erring* spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probationt.

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 wholsome; 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 eye, Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 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 trappings and the suits of woe.

IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,

Hamlet,
* Wandering

of Proof.

To give these mourning duties to your father;
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool’d:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
This must be so.

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE.

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve* itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canont 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God ! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, [ture, That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in naPossess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead!—Nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem|| the winds of heaven * Dissolve. + Law. #Entirely.

$ Apollo. # Suffer.

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,
Let me not think on't ;--Frailty, thy name is wo-
A little month; orere those shoes wereold, [man!—
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears;—why she, even she,
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer --married with my

uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married:-0 most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good.

THE EXTENT OF HUMAN PERFECTION.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

CAUTIONS TO YOUNG FEMALES.

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood:
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute:
No more.

Then weigh what loss your

honour

may sustain, If with too credent* ear you listt his

songs: Or lose your heart: or your chaste treasure open * Believing

+ Listen to.

To his unmaster'd* importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariestt maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes :
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.

SATIRE ON UNGRACIOUS PASTORS.

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own readg.

ADVICE TO A SON GOING TO TRAVEL.

Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; But do not dull thy palm|| with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

* Licentious. + Most cautious. S Regards not his own lessons.

* Careless. || Palm of the hand.

Take each man's censure", but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generoust, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandrys.
This above all,—To thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
HAMLET, ON THE APPEARANCE OF HIS FATHER'S

GHOST,
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!-
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,
Thou com’st in such a questionable|| shape,
That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: 0, answer me:
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may

this

mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? * Opinion. + Noble.

Chiefly.
S Economy. l Conversible. Frame.

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