1). Twelfth Night
[DUKE ILLYRIA]
What 1)dost 2)thou know?
[VIOLA]
Too well what love women to men may owe.
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man
As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
[DUKE ILLYRIA]
And what's her history?
[VIOLA]
A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'th'bud,
Feed on her 3)damask cheek. She pined in thought;
And, with a green and yellow 4)melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more; but indeed
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows but little in our love.
2). Why, How Know You That I Am in Love?
[SPEED]
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to 1)wreathe your arms like a 2)malcontent, to relish a love-song like a robin-red-breast, to walk alone like one that had the 3)pestilence, to sign like a schoolboy that had lost his A B C, to weep like a young 4)wench that had buried her grandam, to fast like one that takes diet, to watch like one that fears robbing, to speak 5)puling like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were 6)wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; When you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money. And now you are 7)metamorphosed with a mistress, that when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
3). Love Song
How use 1)doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And to the 2)nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses and record my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall
And leave no memory of what it was.
4). A Midsummer Night's Dream
[THESEUS]
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold:
That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy,
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear! |
