human
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion. | _He_ bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns; | and, as thou sayest, charged my brother on his blessing | to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. | My brother Jacques he keeps at school, and report | speaks goldenly of his profit; for my part he keeps me | rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, | stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping | for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling | of an ox? His horses are bred better; for besides that | they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, | and to that end riders dearly hired; but I, his brother,| gain nothing under him but growth, for the which | his animals on his dunghills are as much | bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he | so plentifully gives me, the something that Nature gave me | his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed | with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as | in him lies mines my gentility with my education. | This it is, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, | which I think is within me, begins to mutiny | against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, | though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.
gpt
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation | prevent your discovery, and your secresy | to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late |--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, | foregone all custom of exercises, and indeed | it goes so heavily with my disposition, | that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile | promontory, this most excellent canopy, | the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, | this majestical roof, fretted with golden fire, | why, it appeareth nothing to me but | a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. | What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! | how infinite in faculties! in form and moving | how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! | in apprehension how like a god! | the beauty of the world! the paragon | of animals! And yet to me what is | this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; | no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
human
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.--Without his roe, | like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! | Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in; | Laura to his lady was a kitchen-wench; | marry, she had a better love to be-rime her; | Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; | Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisby | a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. | Signior Romeo, _bon jour_. There's a French salutation | to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit | fairly last night.
gpt
Nay, sure, | he's not in hell. He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever | man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, | and went away as it had been any christom child. | 'A parted even just between twelve and one, | even at the turning of the tide. For after I saw him | fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile | upon his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; | for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. | How now, Sir John! quoth I. What, man! be of good cheer! | So 'a cried out God, God, God! three or four times. | Now I, to comfort him, bid him he should not think of God; | I hoped there was no need to trouble himself | with any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay | more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed, | and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. | Then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was | as cold as any stone.
human
Yet that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by Nature, not by vile offence.