Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

LIFE.

[From Macbeth.]

TO-MORROW, and to-morrow, and to

morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

THE VISIONARY DAGGER.
[From Macbeth.]

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind; a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed
brain?

I see the vet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was

That if my speech offend a noble heart, Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.

Behold, it is the privilege of mine honors, My oath, and my profession: I protest,Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,

Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune,

Thy valor, and thy heart, - thou art a traitor:

False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;

Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince;

And from the extremest upward of thy head,

To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, "No,"

This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent

To prove upon thy heart,whereto I speak, Thou liest.

THE STORM. [From King Lear.]

POOR naked wretches, wheresoe'er you

are,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

CLEOPATRA ON THE CYDNUS. [From Antony and Cleopatra.]

THE barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,

Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;

Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke. and made

The water which they beat to follow faster,

As amorous of their strokes. For her

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 saved, 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 everything.

THE USES OF ADVERSITY.

[From As You Like It.]·

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,

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 veno

mous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head. 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.

What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false

As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins

The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;

Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk?

And these assume but valor's excrement, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty,

And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;

Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of