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Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym,
Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail.

King Lear. Act iii. Sc. 6. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

Sc. 7. The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune.

Act iv. Sc. 1. The worst is not So long as we can say, “ This is the worst."

Ibid. Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest.

Sc. 3.

Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice.

Sc. 6. Nature's above art in that respect.

Ibid. Ay, every inch a king.

Ibid. Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.

Ibid. A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places ; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief ?

Ibid. Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furr'd gowns hide all.

Ibid. Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire.

Sc. 7. Pray you now, forget and forgive.

Ibid. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense.

Act v. Sc. 3.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us. King Lear. Act v. Sc. 3.

Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. Ibid.
Vex not his ghost: Oh, let him pass! he hates him much
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

Ibid. That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows. Othello. Act i. Sc. 1. The bookish theoric.

Ibid. 'T is the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first.

Ibid. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd.

Ibid. Whip me such honest knaves.

Ibid. I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at.

Ibid. You are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you.

Ibid. The wealthy curled darlings of our nation. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approv'd good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace : For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Sc, 2.

1 Though I be rude in speech. – 2 Cor. xi. 6.

Their dearest action in the tented field,
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,
And therefore little shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love.

Othello. Act i. Sc. 3.
Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it:
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field,
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
And portance in my travels' history;
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven,
It was my hint to speak, — such was the process;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear 1
Would Desdemona seriously incline.

Ibid. And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs ; She swore, in faith, 't was strange, 't was passing strange, ’T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful; She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

1 " These things to hear" in Singer.

I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake :
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.

Othello. Act i. Sc. 3. I do perceive here a divided duty.

Ibid. The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief.

Ibid. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the finty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.

Ibid. I saw Othello's visage in his mind.

Ibid. Put money in thy purse.

Ibid. The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. Ibid. Framed to make women false.

Ibid. One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. Act ü. Sc. 1. For I am nothing, if not critical.

Ibid. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

Ibid. She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud.

Ibid. She was a wight, if ever such wight were,

Des. To do what ?
Iago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.
Des. Oh most lame and impotent conclusion ! Ibid.

You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar.

Ibid. If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!


Egregiously an ass.

Othello. Act ii. Sc. 1. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.

Sc. 3. otations pottle-deep.

King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,

With that he called the tailor lown." Ibid.
Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle
From her propriety.

Ibid. Your name is great In mouths of wisest censure.

Ibid. Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. Ibid.

Cassio, I love thee; But never more be officer of mine.

Ibid. Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? Cas. Ay, past all surgery.

Ibid. Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.

Ibid. O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil !

Ibid. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains !

Ibid. Cas. Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.

Iugo. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.

Ibid. How poor are they that have not patience!


1 Though these lines are from an old ballad given in Percy's Reliques, they are much altered by Shakespeare, and it is his version we sing in the nursery.

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