Doct.

Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest.

Mach.
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct.

Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs: I'll none of it.

I would applaud thee to the very echo,

That should applaud again.

Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.

Hang out our banners on the outward walls;

The

cry

is still, "They come !" our castle's strength

Will laugh a siege to scorn.

My fell of hair

Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir

As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I pull in resolution, and begin

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend

That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane."

Ibid.

Sc. 5.

Ibid.

Ibid

Ibid.

I gin to be aweary of the sun.

Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.

Blow, wind! come, wrack!

At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Ibid.

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Sc. 6.

I bear a charmed life.

Sc. 8.1

And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense:
That keep the word of promise to our ear
And break it to our hope.

Live to be the show and gaze o' the time.

Lay on, Macduff,

Ibid.

Ibid.

And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"

For this relief much thanks: 't is bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ibid.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1.

But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Whose sore task

Does not divide the Sunday from the week.

This sweaty haste

Ibid.

Ibid.

Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day.

Ibid.

In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

The

graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.

Ibid.

It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir1 abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2

So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.2

The memory be green.

Ibid.

Sc. 2.

With an auspicious and a dropping eye,3

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole.

Ibid.

The head is not more native to the heart.

Ibid.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

Ibid.

All that lives must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ibid.

nay,

Seems, madam!
it is;
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black.

But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

"Tis a fault to Heaven,

I know not "seems."

Ibid.

Ibid.

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,

To reason most absurd.

Ibid

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

1 "Can walk" in White

2 "Eastern hill" in Dyce, Singer, Staunton, and White.

3 "One auspicious and one dropping eye " in Dyce, Singer, and Staunton

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

That it should come to this!

Hamlet. Act i Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly.

Why, she would hang on him,

Ibid.

My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.

Ibid.

It is not nor it cannot come to good.

Ibid.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

In the dead vast and middle of the night.

Ibid.

Arm'd at point exactly, cap-a-pe.'

Ibid.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ibid.

"Armed at all points" in Singer and White,

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve.

Ibid.

Foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

Ibid.

A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

The perfume and suppliance of a minute.

Sc. 3.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon :
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes :
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own rede.1

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.

1 And may you better reck the rede,

Than ever did the adviser.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

BURNS: Epistle to a Young Friend.

2 "Hooks" in Singer.

Ibid