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172 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
16-v. 4. 174
Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it: he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
O, my love! my wife !
* In allusion to the images made by the witches.
176 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images. 24-ii. 2.
178 O'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.
25-iv, 2. 181
Full of repentance,
Grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate.
34-iv. 3. 185
In the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart.
187 Lo! here the hopeless merchant of this loss, With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe, With sad set eyes and wretched arms across, From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow The grief away, that stops his answer so ; But wretched as he is, he strives in vain; What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again. As through an arch the violent roaring tide Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste; Yet in the eddie boundeth in his pride Back to the strait, that forced him on so fast, In rage sent out, recall'd in rage being past : Even
so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.
My particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature,
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
When my heart,
'Tis with my mind As with the tide, swell’d up unto its height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
192 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast. 17-ii. 1.
194 My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; And I myself see not the bottom of it. 26-iii. 3.
195 Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 35-iii. 2. 196 My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal* tongue.
197 There's nothing in this world, can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. 16-iii. 4.
198 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, And caterpillars eat my leaves away.
22—iii. 1. 199
O, you kind gods,
200 As the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, Like strengthless hinges buckles under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief, Are thrice themselves.
201 Our strength is all gone into heaviness, That makes the weight!
202 Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; : Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 16-iii. 4.
| Bend, yield to pressure. $ Anger and terror have been known to remove a fit of the gout; to give activity to the bed-ridden; and to produce instantaneous and most extraordinary energies.