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life peering; but I dare not say, How near the tidings of our comfort is. 17-ii. 1.
The last she spake
206 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd, and so becoming.
207 Are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart ?
208 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul; Holding the eternal spirit against her will, In the vile prison* of afflicted breath. 16-iii. 4.
209 A cyprus,f not a bosom, Hides my poor heart.
4-iii. 1. 210
Ah, cut my lace asunder!
* “ Vile body."-Phil. iii. 21.
+ Transparent stuff.
211 Why tell you me of moderation ? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affection, Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief; My love admits no qualifying dross: No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
26-iv. 4. 212
I do note,
214 O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow : Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.
Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds.
216 O, how this mothert swells up toward my heart !
* Spurs are the roots of trees. † A disease called the mother.
Hysterica passio !-down, thou climbing sorrow,
I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of.
1-iii. 1. 218
The tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else, Save what beats there.
221 The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure,t that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.
* Alteration of features. 1 Love of country.
| Worked the wall.
Lift up thy brow,-
16%). 2. 223
Nobly he yokes
26—iji. 2. 225
Grieved I, I had but one ?
* Disposition of things.
Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me.*
227 Tell me, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth ; And start so often, when thou sit'st alone ? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-eyed musing, and cursed melancholy ? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, And all the currentst of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beadsf of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream: And in thy face strange motions have appear'd Such as we see, when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O what portents are these?
Give me no help in lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth laments : All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!
24-ii. 2. 229
Why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on?
* This is one of our author's observations upon life. Men over powered with distress, eagerly listen to the first offers of relief, close with every scheme, and believe every promise. He that bas no Jonger any confidence in himself, is glad to repose his trust in any other that wil dertake to guide him. Occurrences.