Graded Poetry: First and second years, [third-eighth year]

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.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,
In those freckles live their savors:
8 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-NIGHTS 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.
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,

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,

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