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, 7 5 10 15 The cowslips tall her pensioners be: In those freckles live their savors: 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; And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm; Puck. Thou speak'st aright : I am that merry wanderer of the night. And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob A merrier horn was never wasted there. But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon. 9 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, 5 10 15 20 10 This other Eden, demi-paradise ; This fortress built by Nature for herself This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. "RICHARD II," Act II, Sc. 1. Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 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, |