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O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:
Valentine. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint ?
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ;
Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Val. Sweet, except not any,
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too ; She shall be dignified with this high honor,To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favor growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-smelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, Valentine what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing
Val. Not for the world : why man, she is mine own;
Who is Silvia ? what is she?
That all our swains commend her?
The heavens such grace did lend her,
Is she kind, as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair
To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing
That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring.
Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.That strain again;- it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets Stealing and giving odor.—Enough, no more, 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! That notwithstanding thy capacity, Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,
That' it alone is high-fantastical.
Curio. Will you go hunt, my lord ?
What, Curio ?
Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming ? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low: Trip it no further, pretty sweeting;
Journey's end in lover's meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
What's to come is still unsure ;
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Fly away, fly away, breath;
O, prepare it;
Did share it.
black coffin let there be strown;
Lay me, 0, where
To weep there.
POR TI A.
Bassanio. What find I here? Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven
Tell me, where is fancy bred, .
It is engender'd in the eyes,
Let us all ring fancy's knell,
JULIET. Romeo. What lady's that which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?
Serv. I know not, sir,
Romeo. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright, It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows, The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.