dots-menu
×

Home  »  Parnassus  »  William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.

Remorse

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

(From Macbeth.)

METHOUGHT I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!

Macbeth doth murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep,

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast,—

Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house:

“Glamis hath murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor

Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!”

*****
(From Macbeth.)

MACBETH

Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above

Put on their instruments.


WHEN we in our viciousness grow hard,

O misery on’t! the wise gods seal our eyes;

In our own filth, drop our clear judgments; make us

Adore our errors, laugh at us, while we strut

To our confusion.


I SEE men’s judgments are

A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward

To draw the inward quality after them

To suffer all alike.

*****
(From King Lear.)

THE GODS are just, and of our pleasant vices

Make instruments to scourge us.

*****
(From Measure for Measure.)

MERCIFUL Heaven!

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt

Split’st the unwedgeable and gnarlèd oak,

Than the soft myrtle;—O, but man, proud man!

Drest in a little brief authority,

Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,

His glassy essence,—like an angry ape,

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,

As make the angels weep.