« السابقةمتابعة »
DICTION A R Y
What! keep a week away? seven days and nights ?
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Celerity is never more admir'd
Than by the negligent. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Take the instant way;
goes abreast : keep then the path : For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue; If you give way, Or edge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave
hindmost. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them, Come,-1 have learn'd, that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary : Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Go, muster men: My counsel is my shield; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : The flighty purpose never is o’ertook, Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, The very firstlings of my
heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought
Sweet are the uses of adversity ;
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head :
As we do turn our backs
loves and counsels, Be sure you be not loose; for those
make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye.
Then was I as a tree, Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one night, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.
Such a house broke!
Come hither, pray you. How
goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd, With clamorous demands of date-broken bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour?
Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks,
Nay then, farewell!
O father abbot, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity. His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little: And, to add greater honours to his age Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers ? Where be thy two sons wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and knees, and says—God save the queen ? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee ? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ? Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
An old man,