SEVENTH YEAR-FIRST HALF

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

ENGLAND, 1564-1616

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something,

nothing;

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor indeed.

"OTHELLO," Act II, Sc. 3.

Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you?

Fairy. Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.

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The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors:
5 I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone;
Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night: 10 Take heed the queen come not within his sight; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,

Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a changeling: 15 And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; But she perforce withholds the lovèd boy, Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove or green, 20 By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, But they do square, that all their elves for fear Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

Fairy. Either I mistake your shape and making quite

Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 25 Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are you not he

That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk, and sometimes labor in the quern,

And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;

A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM

And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm;
Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good-luck:
Are not you he?

Puck.

Thou speak'st aright :

I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;

And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her, when down topples she,
And "tailor" cries, and falls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh
And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear

A merrier horn was never wasted there.

But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

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Fairy. And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

"A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM," Act II, Sc. 1.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

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This other Eden, demi-paradise ;

This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
5 This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

"RICHARD II," Act II, Sc. 1.

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,

Your sad tires in a mile-a.

- From "WINTER'S TALE."

The Downfall of Wolsey

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! 15 This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 20 His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,