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Mirth much raised, often-times lead to sport or

RAILLERY.
GRATIANO TRYING TO RAISE ANTONIO'S SPIRITS.

Let me play the fool
With mirth and laughter; so let wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat of wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in albaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,
(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks)
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !
I'll tell thee more of this another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo, fare ye well awhile,
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Joy. Joy, or Gladness, when sudden and violent, expresses itself by clapping of hands, and exultation, or leaping. The eyes are opened wide: perhaps filled with tears; often raised to heaven, especially by devout persons. The countenance is smiling, not composedly, but with features aggravated. The voice rises from time to time to very high notes.

JOY-FROM COLLINS'S ODE ON THE PASSIONS.

Last come Joy's ecstatic trial :
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address’d
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.

They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempes' vale, her native maids,
Amids't the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love, fram’d with mirth, a gay fantastic round.

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
And he amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

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OROONOKO ON MEETING IMOINDA.
IMOINDA, Oh! this separation
Has made you dearer, if it can be so,
Than you were ever to me! You appear
Like a kind star to my benighted steps,
To guide me on my way to happiness ;
I cannot miss it now. Governor, friend,
You think me mad: but let me bless you all,
Who any way have been the instruments
Of finding her again. Imoinda's found !
And ev'ry thing that I would have in her,

This little spot of earth you stand upon,
Is more to me than the extended plains
Of my great father's kingdom: Here I reign
In full delights, in joys to pow'r unknown;

Your love my empire, and your heart my throne.
FALSTAFF, UPON HEARING THAT PRINCE HENRY HAS THE

MONEY, TAKEN FROM HIM AT GAD'S HILL. Fals.-But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.-Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow.—Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What! shali we be merry ? Shall we have a play extempore ?

HOW TO EXPRESS THE PASSION OF JOY.

You who would joy's triumphant pride express,
What most you wish, imagine you pessess,
Straight flames th' idea to the kindling eye,
And every nerve in concord braces high :
Treading in air each joint a soul displays;
The looks all lighten,—and the limbs all blaze.

OTHELLO ON MEETING DESDEMONA.
It gives me wonder, great as my content,
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken’d death ;
And let the labouring barque climb hills of seas,
Olympus high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven. If I were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown Fate.

SETTLED JOY OR PLEASURE,
ACASTO ON CHAMONT’S ARRIVAL.
Thus happy, who would envy pompous power,
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day!
In every room let plenty flow at large !
It is the birth-day of my royal master!

-Let me embrace ye both! now, by the souls

Of my brave ancestors, I'm truly happy!
For this, be ever blest my marriage day!
Blest be your mother's memory, that bore you,
And doubly blest be that auspicious hour

That gave you birth.
ROMEO AND JULIET ON THEIR MARRIAGE.
Rom.—Ah, Juliet, if the measnre of thy joy

Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both

Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Jul.Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

Brags of his substance, not of ornaments :
They are but beggars that can count their worth ;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

VIOLENT, OR EXCLAMATORY Joy.
ROMEO ON DISCOVERING JULIET ALIVE IN THE TOMB.

She speaks, she lives, and we shall still be bless’d!
My kind propitious stars o'erpay me now,
For all my sorrows past. Rise, rise, my Juliet,
And from this cave of death, this house of horror,
Quick let me snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms,
And call thee back again to life and love.
'Tis thy Romeo, Juliet, raised from despair
To joy unutterable! Quit, quit, this place,
And let us fly together.

[Acting Edition. LADY EASY ON RECOVERING HER HUSBAND'S AFFECTIONS.

Oh! the soft treasure! oh! the dear reward of long-desiring love! Now I am blest, indeed, to see you kind without the expense of pain in being so, to make you mine with easiness. Thus, thus to have you mine, is something more than happiness; 'tis double life and madness of abounding joy.

GRIEF. Grief, may be sudden and violent, or fixed and silent. When sudden and violent, it expresses itself by beating the head; grovelling on the ground, tearing the garments, hair, and flesh; screaming aloud, weeping, stamping with the feet, lifting the eyes from time to time to heaven; hurrying to and fro, running distracted, or fainting away, sometimes without recovery. At other times, violent grief produces a torpid silence, resembling total apathy.

HOW TO EXPRESS GRIEF.
But you who act unhoping grief's distress,
Touch fancy with some homefelt wretchednesss,
Then slackening nerves, the loose impression take ;
Each sad look sickens; the shook'd spirits break;
Dim falls the faded eye, the steps drag slow,
And ev'ry heedless gesture heaves with woe.

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VIOLENT, OR EXCLAMATORY GRIEF.
Out, and alas, that was my lady's voice!
Help, help, ho! help! Oh lady, speak again,
Sweet Desdemona!" oh, sweet mistress, speak,-
-Help! help! ho! help!
The Moor has killed my mistress--Murther! murther!

SETTLED GRIEF.
LADY ANNE ATTENDING HENRY VITH'S FUNERAL.

0, cursed be the hand that made these holes !
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have a child abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness.
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
Than I am made by my young lord and thee.
HAMLET, ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE.
Oh! that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;
Or, that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His cannon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!

- That it should come to this;
But two months dead-nay not so much,—not two,-
So excellent a king

that was to this !
Hesperion to a satyr! So loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heav'n
Visit her face too roughly.—Heaven and Earth!
Must I remember? why she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on,—and yet within a month ?
Let me not think on't. Frailty, thy name is woman !-
A little month, or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
(Like Niobe all tears,) -
Married with my uncle,
My father's brother,—but no more like my

father
Than I to Hercules.
It is not, nor it cannot come to good,

But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!
THE SAME, ON PARTING WITH THE GHOST.

Remember thee! Aye, thou poor ghost,
While memory holds a seat in this distracted globe!
Remember thee? Yea! from the table of my memory

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I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,

Unmix'd with baser matter.
LADY RANDOLH MOURNING HER HUSBAND AND SON.

Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart,
Farewell awhile; I will not leave you long,
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,
Who from the chiding stream, and groaning oak,
Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan,
Oh, Douglas ! Douglas ! If departed ghosts
Be e'er permitted to review this world,
Within the circle of that wood thoạ art,
And, with the passion of immortals, hear'st
My lamentation! Hear'st thy wretched wife
We
Геер

for her husband slain, her infant lost!
My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn,
Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day:
Oh, disregard me not, though I am call'd
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine;
Incapable of change, affection lies
Buried, my Douglas, in a bloody grave!

GLO’STER, ON LOSS OF HIS SIGHT.
All dark and comfortless.
Where are those various objects that but now
Employ'd my busy eyes ? Where those eyes ?
These groping hands are now my only guides,
And feeling on my sight,
Oh, misery! what words can sound my grief?
Shút from the living, whilst among the living;
Dark as the grave amidst the bustling world ;
At once from pleasure and from business barr'd;
No more to see the beauty of the spring,
Or view the face of kindred or of friend!

[Acting Edition.] CROMWELL, ON PARTING WITH WOLSEY. Crom. Oh! my lord !

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego,
So good, so noble, and so true a master ?
Bear witness all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord !
The king shall have my service, but my pray’rs

For ever and for ever shall be yours !
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries, but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman !
-Let's dry our eyes.

[Exit Crom.

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