30 In the dark hidden virtuous use of herbs. In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Pull'd from the fair head of the straight-grown pine. 45 On these I'll feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side bless'd. 30. Virtuous: virtue (see below, 1. 39) once was occasionally employed to mean power, efficacy. Thus Milton, Il Penseroso, 113, speaks of "the virtuous ring 35. Wicked, baneful, as in the phrase "wicked dew" of the Tempest. 72. Philip Massinger. 1584-1640. (History, p. 92.) From THE VIRGIN MARTYR. Dor. My book and taper. Ang. Here, most holy mistress. Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound. 5 Were every servant in the world like thee, 10 And like that name thou art. Get thee to rest; Ang. No, my dear lady. I could weary stars, And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes, Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid Dor. Be nigh me still, then. 20 In golden letters down I'll set that day, Ang. Proud am I that my lady's modest eye Dor. I have offer'd Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents. 35 I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some, To dwell with thy good father; for, the son Bewitching me so deeply with his presence, He that begot him must do't ten times more. I pray thee, my sweet boy, show me thy parents; 40 Be not ashamed. Ang. I am not: I did never Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace, 25. An alms: the s in alms is radical. See note 9, extract 13. 30. Cherubims: a double plural, the im being already a plur. termination in the Hebrew. It is as absurd as if we were to say oxens. 44. Pawn, in the sense of pledge. comes, according to Diez, from Lat. pannus (0. Fr. pan), a piece of cloth; though It. pegno would seem to refer it to Lat. pignus. Pawn, a man in chess, is Sp. peon, It. pedone, a foot soldier. 45 My father is in heaven; and, pretty mistress, 73. John Webster. Fl. 1623. (History, p. 93.) From THE DUCHESS OF MALFY. The Duchess's marriage with Antonio being discovered, her brother Ferdinand shuts her up in a prison, and torments her with various trials of studied cruelty. By his command, Bosola, the instrument of his devices, shows her the bodies of her husband and children counterfeited in wax, as dead. 5 Bos. He doth present you this sad spectacle, For that which cannot be recovered. Duch. There is not between heaven and earth one wish I stay for after this: it wastes me more Than were 't my picture fashion'd out of wax, Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried In some foul dunghill; and 'yond's an excellent property 10 For a tyrant, which I would account mercy. Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, Bos. Come, you must live. 15 Leave this vain sorrow. 20 Things being at the worst begin to mend. The bee, When he hath shot his sting into your hand, May then play with your eyelid. Duch. Good comfortable fellow, 9. Property, peculiar quality; that which is proper (proprium) or peculiar to a person. Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel 25 For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will. 30 Bos. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life. Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the year 35 To its first chaos. Plagues (that make lanes through largest families) Let them like tyrants Ne'er be remember'd but for the ill they've done! 40 Let all the zealous prayers of mortified Churchmen forget them! Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs, To punish them! go, howl them this; and say, I long to bleed: 37. Them, her brothers. 40. Mortified, who have mortified (made dead, fr. Lat. mortifico) their fleshly lusts; and so ascetic. Compare Shakespeare's "Dumont is mortified," i. e. has become an ascetic. 74. James Shirley. 1594-1666. (History, p. 94.) The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now, See, where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. |