Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
RemorseWilliam Shakespeare (1564–1616)
M
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.)
M
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments.
(From Antony and Cleopatra.)
W
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.
(From Antony and Cleopatra.)
I
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
To draw the inward quality after them
To suffer all alike.
(From King Lear.)
T
Make instruments to scourge us.
(From Measure for Measure.)
M
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.