How all occasions do inform against me, (35)
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not (40)
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event,
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom (45)
And ever three parts coward, I do not know
Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;' Sith I have cause and will and strength and means
To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me:
Witness this army of such mass and charge (50)
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd
"The fact is, that Shakespeare never, whether in comedy or tragedy, ends in the pathetic key, a point to which I shall return later. That there is an admixture of compassion in these great scenes is true; but the passions with which it is commingled are so agitating, the action so frantic, the consequences so prodigious, that pity is smothered up in dismay. At the very end, to be sure, the winds fall and cease, and the waves break back on themselves in a mighty subsidence; but it is the calm of a supreme exaltation." J. F. Pyre.Read on...