Chapter FARDELS to FATE of Index by Grocott's Quotations - Alpha

FARDELS to FATE

FARDELS—Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Shakespeare.—Hamlet, Act III. Scene 1. (Soliloquy.) See “Conscience.”

FAREWELL.—Her tears in freedom gush’d:
Big—bright—and fast, unknown to her they fell;
But still her lips refused to send—“Farewell!”
For in that word—that fatal word—howe’er
We promise—hope—believe—there breathes despair.

Byron.—The Corsair, Canto I. Stanza 15.

Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Byron.—Fare thee well.

Farewell! “But not for ever.”

Cowper.—Monumental Inscription to Northcot. 1. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. 2. Well, we may meet again.

Shakespeare.—King Richard II. Act II. Scene 2. (Bushy to Green.)

If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.

Shakespeare.—Julius Cæsar, Act V. Scene 1. (Brutus to Cassius.)

Give me your hand first: fare you well.

Shakespeare.—Julius Cæsar, Act V. Scene 5. (Strato to Brutus.)

So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,
Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost.

Milton.—Paradise Lost, Book IV. Line 108.

Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars
That make ambition virtue.

Shakespeare.—Othello, Act III. Scene 3. (To Iago.)

FAREWELL. O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!

Shakespeare.—Othello, Act III. Scene 3. (To Iago.) See Sheridan’s parody on these beautiful lines, in the Epilogue to “The School for Scandal.”

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening—nips his root,
And then he falls as I do.

Shakespeare.—King Henry VIII. Act III. Scene 2. (Wolsey solus.)

FAST.—Fast bind, fast find.