I will bestow him and will answer well The death I gave him. But heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. Once more, good night, And when you are desirous to be blessed, I’ll blessing beg of you. For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either rein the devil or throw him out With wondrous potency. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence, the next more easy. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this: That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Good night-but go not to mine uncle’s bed. Oh, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. There’s no longer any shame in acting on impulse when old people burn to act on impulse, and reason acts as a servant to desire. Oh, for shame, why aren’t you blushing? If a rebellion can rage even in a mother’s bones, then in the fire of youth all virtue must burn away. What devil was it that tricked and blindfolded you? Even if you had eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, ears without hands or eyes, smell without any other senses, or the use of just one impaired sense, you would not make a mistake like this. And even senses overcome by desire would still be able to distinguish the huge difference between your former and current husband. But those senses seem paralyzed, because madness would not make this mistake. But there must be something wrong with your reason, because why else would you go from this to that? Your senses must still work, or else you wouldn’t be able to move. Do you have eyes? How could you leave the beautiful heights of this man and descend down to this dank swamp of this one? Ha! Do you have eyes? You can’t say it was love-because at at your age romantic passions have been tamed with humility and reason. Now look at what came after: this is your husband, like a rotten ear of corn infecting the one next to it. He was such a combination of good qualities that it seemed like he was put together by all the gods to be the perfect man. See the saintly goodness in this face? He has curls like those of Hyperion, a forehead like that of Jove, eyes that command like those of Mars, and a stance as light as Mercury’s when that god lands on the peak of a hill. Look at this picture here and at that one there, the painted portraits of two brothers. Proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will. O shame, where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax And melt in her own fire. What devil was ’t That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. But sure that sense Is apoplexed, for madness would not err, Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thralled, But it reserved some quantity of choice To serve in such a difference. And what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, Else could you not have motion. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed And batten on this moor? Ha, have you eyes? You cannot call it love, for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it’s humble, And waits upon the judgment. Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear Blasting his wholesome brother. See, what a grace was seated on this brow? Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars to threaten and command, A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill- A combination and a form indeed Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man. Look here upon this picture and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
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