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 I. 
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 V. 
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 VIII. 
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Lorenzo! hear, pause, ponder, and pronounce.
Just is this history? If such is man,
Mankind's historian, though Divine, might weep:
And dares Lorenzo smile?—I know thee proud:
For once let Pride befriend thee: Pride looks pale
At such a scene, and sighs for something more.
Amid thy boasts, presumptions, and displays,
And art thou then a shadow? less than shade?
A nothing? less than nothing? To have been,
And not to be, is lower than unborn.
Art thou ambitious? Why then make the worm
Thine equal? Runs thy taste of pleasure high?
Why patronize sure death of every joy?
Charm riches? Why choose beggary in the grave,
Of every hope a bankrupt, and for ever?
Ambition, Pleasure, Avarice, persuade thee
To make that world of glory, rapture, wealth,
They lately proved, thy soul's supreme desire.
 

In the Sixth Night.