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O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
The last she spake
Was, Antony! most noble Antony!
Then in the midst of a tearing groan did break
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
Are you like the painting of a sorrow,
30 iv. 12.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
In the vile prison* of afflicted breath.
A cyprus,f not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart.
Ah, cut my lace asunder!
my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
"Vile body."-Phil. iii. 21.
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it?
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
I do note,
That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
His perishing root, with the increasing vine!
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow :
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.
Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds.
O, how this motherf swells up toward my heart!
* Spurs are the roots of trees.
† A disease called the mother.
The tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there.
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
Grief hath changed me since you saw me last;
The incessant care and labour of his mind
O, what a noble combat hast thou fought,
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
* Alteration of features.
Love of country.
† Worked the wall.
Lift up thy brow,
And with a great heart heave away this storm :
Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh
16 v. 2.
Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
With winds, that sailors rail at.
Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom :
Grieved I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ?*
* Disposition of things.
Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.*
Tell me, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth laments:
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! 24-ii. 2.
Why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? 15-iii. 2.
*This is one of our author's observations upon life. Men overpowered with distress, eagerly listen to the first offers of relief, close with every scheme, and believe every promise. He that has no -longer any confidence in himself, is glad to repose his trust in any other that will undertake to guide him.