By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change its nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted-Mark the music.

Enter Portia and Nerissa at a distance.

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall:
-How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.
Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king,
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters.-Music, hark!

Ner. It is your music, Madam, of the house.
Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect :1
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner. Silence bestows the virtue on it, Madam.
Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise, and true perfection!

FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.

ACT II. SC. 1.

THE EXILED DUKE'S PHILOSOPHY.

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,

Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even 'till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,

1 Unless considered relatively.

So Shakespeare coins co-mart, Ham. Act I. Sc. 1.-Malone.
This relative has no corresponding verb.

Н

[Music

This is no flattery; these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.1
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

ACT II. SC. 7.

JACQUEZ DESCRIBES THE CLOWN TOUCHSTONE.

A fool, a fool;—I met a fool i'th' forest,

A motley fool-(a miserable world !)—

As I do live by food, I met a fool,

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,

In good set terms-and yet a motley fool.

"Good morrow, fool," quoth I-"No, Sir," quoth he, "Call me not fool, 'till heav'n have sent me fortune." And then he drew a dial from his poke,

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, "it is ten o'clock:"

"Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags:
"Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.
And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear
The motely fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,

An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
Oh worthy fool!—motley's the only wear!

ACT II. SC. 9.

THE WORLD A STAGE.-Jaquez.

Jaq. ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts:
His acts being seven ages. At first-the Infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then-the whining School-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail

1 A belief of Shakespeare's age.

Unwillingly to school. And then-the Lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then-a Soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.

And then-the Justice,

In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

FROM MACBETH.

ACT I. SC. 3.

INTERVIEW WITH THE WITCHES.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other Attendants. Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is't call'd to Forres ?-What are these,

So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth,

And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught

That man may question? You seem to understand me,

By each at once her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips.-You should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can. What are you?

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis ! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be King hereafter. Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical,1 or that indeed

[To the Witches.

Which outwardly ye shew? My noble partner
You greet with present grace, and great prediction
Of noble having2 and of royal hope,

That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not.
If you can look into the seeds of time,

And say which grain will grow and which will not,

Illusions of the fancy.

2 Possession.

Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
Your favours nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3 Witch. Hail!

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.
By Sinel's death, I know I'm Thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosp'rous gentleman; and to be King,
Stands not within the prospect of belief,

No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting?-Speak, I charge you.
[Witches vanish.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has;
And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?
Macb. Into the air; and what seemed corporal
Melted, as breath, into the wind.

'Would they had staid!

Ban. Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane3 root,

That takes the reason prisoner?

Macb. Your children shall be kings.

Ban. You shall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

Ban. To th' self same tune and words. Who's here?

Enter Rosse and Angus.

Rosse. The king hath happily received, Macbeth,

The news of thy success; and when he reads

Thy personal venture in the rebel's fight,

His wonders and his praises do contend

Which should be thine, or his.

Ang. We are sent

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his sight,

Not pay thee.

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy Thane!

For it is thine.

2 Possess; this meaning of the word occurs repeatedly in Shakespeare. The heraldic term for titles of dignity.

1 His father.
'Causing insanity.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true?
Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives;
Why do you dress me in his borrowed robes?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deserves to lose.

[Aside.
To Angus.
To Banquo.

Macb. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!
The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promised no less to them?

Ban. That trusted home

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,

Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange;
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,

The instruments of darkness tell us truths,

Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence.1

Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act

[To Rosse and Angus.

[Aside.

[To Rosse and Angus.

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen.

This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,

Why hath it giv'n me earnest of success,

Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion,

Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,3
Shakes so my single state of man, that function

Is smothered in surmise; and nothing is,

But what is not.*

Ban. Look, how our partner's wrapt!

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown

me,

Without my stir.5

Ban. New honours come upon him,

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould

But with the aid of use.

1 Compare Othello, I. 3.

[Aside.

In my imagination.

2 Incitement; one of the Latin senses of solicitare. "All powers of action are oppressed by one overwhelming image in the mind, and nothing is present to me but that which is really future."-Jonson. Single, feeble, unsupported. See Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. ii. p. 74.

A natively good disposition reluctantly yielding to overpowering temptation forms an important element in Shakespeare's construction of Macbeth's character.