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The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.

King Henry VI. Part II. Act ü. Sc. 2.

Didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success ? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? Ibida

Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! Act iii. Sc. 3. A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench. Act iv. Sc. 8. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Act v. Sc. 6.


Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;

now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
Ithat am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-


Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.

King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1. To leave this keen encounter of our wits.

Sc. 2. Was ever woman in this humour wooed ? Was ever woman in this humour won ?


Sc. 2.

Framed in the prodigality of nature.

The world is grown so bad,
That wrens make rey where eagles dare not perch.'

Sc. 3.
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil. Ibid.
0, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.

Sc. 4. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears ! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes ! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, Ten thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea : Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes Where

eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 't were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems. A parlous boy.


Act ijSc. 4.

1 For fools rush in where angels fear to tread. – Pope: Essay on Critisism, part iïi. line 66.

3 “Stolen forth" in White and Knight.


Sc. 3.

Sc. 4.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

Kiny Richard III. Act . Sc. 1.
Off with his head ! ?

Sc. 4.
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
Ready with every nod to tumble down.

Even in the afternoon of her best days.

Sc. 7.
Thou troublest
I am not in the vein.

Act iv. Sc. 2.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. Ibid.
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed.
Tetchy and wayward.

An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. Ibid.
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on without impediment. Act v. Sc. 2.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Ibid.
The king's name is a tower of strength.

Sc. 3.
Give me another horse : bind up my wounds. Ibid.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me Ibid.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
tale condemns me for a villain.

The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn.

By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. Ibid.
1 A little too wise, they say, do ne'er live long.– MIDDLETON : The
3. Off with his head! so much for Buckingham! - CIBBER: Richard III


Phenix, act i. sc. 1.

(altered), act id. sc. 3.

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The selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3. A thing devised by the enemy.

Ibid. I have set my


upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die : I think there be six Richmonds in the field.

Sc. 4.

A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse !

Ibid. Order gave each thing view.

King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger.

Ibid. Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him.

Ibid. Heat not a furnace for your

foe so hot That it do singe yourself.

Ibid. 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through.

Sc. 2. The mirror of all courtesy.

Act ü. Sc. 1. This bold bad man.2

Sc. 2. 'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.

Sc. 3. Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing.

'T is well said again, And 't is a kind of good deed to say well : And yet words are no deeds.

1 A weak invention of the enemy. – CIBBER : Richard III. (altered) act v. sc. 3.

3 See Spenser, page 27.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2

And then to breakfast with
What appetite you have. King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;
And from that full meridian of my glory
I haste now to my setting : I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

Press not a falling man too far !

Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness !
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; 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. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride
At length broke under me and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

and fears than wars or women have :
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience.




A load would sink a navy.


And sleep in dull cold marble.



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