These tidings nip me and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; All things, that we ordained festival, Once a day I'll visit up I daily vow to use it. No, I'll not weep : I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Or ere I'll weep:-0, fool, I shall go mad! Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm But where the greater malady is fix'd, The lesser is scarce felt. When the mind's free, Save what beats there. What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers. My grief lies all within, And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel; Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, There's nothing in this world, can make me joy : Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title leaf, So looks the strand, whereon th' imperious flood Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, Being that I flow in grief, the smallest twine might lead me. And but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him A goodly person. Of comfort no man speak : O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, Malcolm. Dispute it like a man. But 1 must also feel it like a man: I cannot but remember such things were O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest: For never henceforth shall I joy again. O insupportable! O heavy hour! Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe Spirits of peace where are ye? Are ye all gone? Like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourished, I'll hang my head, and perish. She shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, Accursed and unquiet wrangling days! Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last; All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Let us not burthen our remembrances With a heaviness that's gone. No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds? Oh flatt'ring glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased; Come what come may; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. GRIEF.HANGING.-HAPPINESS. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in: thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 105 What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, As if he had been loosed out of hell, HANGING. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck ; HAPPINESS. If it were now to die, "Twere now to be most happy; for, 1 fear, That not another comfort like to this |