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The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.
The Tempest.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with 't.

Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life.
Ant. True; save means to live.

A

Fer. Here's my hand.

Mir. And mine, with my heart in 't.

He that dies pays all debts.

A kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.
Deeper than e'er plummet sounded.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:

very ancient and fish-like smell.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

With foreheads villanous low,

Deeper than ever did plummet sound,
I'll drown my book.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Act i. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2.

Sc. 3.

Ibid.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act i. Sc. 1.

I have no other but a woman's reason:
I think him so, because I think him so.
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
Oh jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

As a nose on a man's face,1 or a weathercock on a steeple.

Ibid.

She is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.

is no man,

That man that hath a tongue, I say,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Except I be by Sylvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale.

A man I am, cross'd with adversity.
Is she not passing fair?

Sc. 2.

Sc. 3.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 4.

Sc. 7.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Act iv. Sc. 1.
Sc. 4.

Act v. Sc. 4.

How use doth breed a habit in a man! 2
O heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect.
Come not within the measure of my wrath.

I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.

The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1. All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.

Ibid.

Ibid.
Ibid.

1 As clear and as manifest as the nose in a man's face.. - BURTON: Anatomy of Melancholy, part iii. sect. 3, memb. 4, subsect. 1.

2 Custom is almost second nature. - PLUTARCH: Preservation of Health.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1
Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts.

Ibid.

Mine host of the Garter.

Ibid.

I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.

Ibid.

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.1

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Sc. 3.

O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot wield? 66 Convey," the phrase!

"the wise it call. "Steal! foh! a fico for

Ibid.

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.

Ibid.

Tester I'll have in pouch, when thou shalt lack,
Base Phrygian Turk!

Thou art the Mars of malcontents.

There's the humour of it.

Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.

Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.

This is the short and the long of it.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.

Sc. 4.

We burn daylight.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Unless experience be a jewel.

Like a fair house, built on another man's ground.
We have some salt of our youth in us.

1 Familiarity breeds contempt.-PUBLIUS SYRUS: Maxim 640.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Sc. 3.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.1

The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 2. What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket!

Sc. 3.

Oh, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!

Happy man be his dole!

I have a kind of alacrity in sinking.

As good luck would have it.2

Sc. 4.

Ibid.

Sc. 5.
Ibid.

The rankest compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril.

Ibid.

Ibid.
Ibid.

A man of my kidney.

Think of that, Master Brook.

Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

In his old lunes again.

Sc. 2.

So curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion soever.
Ibid.

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. . . . There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.

...

Act v. Sc. 1.

Thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,
Both thanks and use.

Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.

1 What the dickens! - THOMAS HEYWOOD: Edward IV. act iii. sc. 1. 2 As ill luck would have it.

- CERVANTES: Don Quixote, pt. i. bk. i. ch. ii.

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He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 2.

may, in the ambush of my name, strike home.

I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
A man whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense.
He arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example.

Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt.

The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try.

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there.

Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.2

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And He that might the vantage best have took
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are?

1 Act i. Sc. 5, in White, Singer, and Knight.

2 Compare Portia's words in Merchant of Venice, act iv. sc. 1.

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Ibid.

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