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And thereby hangs a tale.

The Taming of the Shrew. Act iv. Sc. 1. My cake is dough.

Act r. Sc. 1. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.

Sc. 2. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband.

Ibid. 'T were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it. All's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1. The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love.

Ibid. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.

Ibid, Service is no heritage.

Sc. 3. He must needs go that the devil drives.

Ibid. My friends were poor but honest.

Ibid. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises.

Act ii. Sc. 1. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. Sc. 2. From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed.

Sc. 3. They say miracles are past.

Ibid. All the learned and authentic fellows.



A young man married is a man that's marr’d.
Make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.

Sc. 4.

Act ii, Sc. 5.

1 See Heywood, page 18.

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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.

All's Well that Ends Well. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Whose words all ears took captive.

Act v. Sc. 3.
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.

The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time.

All impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy.

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall :
Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound 2
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour ! Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.
I am sure care 's an enemy to life.

Sc. 3.
At my fingers' ends.3

Ibid. Wherefore are these things hid ?

Ibid. Is it a world to hide virtues in ?

Ibid. One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Sc. 5. We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.

Ibid. 'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you

will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.


1 How noiseless falls the foot of time !— W. R. SPENCER : Lines to Lady A. Hamilton.

2 “Like the sweet south" in Dyce and Singer. This change was made at the suggestion of Pope.

8 See Heywood, page 12.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out.

Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

Act i. Sc. 3. Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.

Ibid. He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Ibid. Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you ?

Ibid. Sir To. Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.

Ibid. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Ibid. These most brisk and giddy-paced times.

Sc. 4. Let still the woman take An elder than herself : so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart : For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are.

Ibid. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.

Ibid. The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.

Ibid. Duke.

And what's her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,

Sc. 5.

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

Twelfth Night. Act ü. Sc. 4.
I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too.

Ibid. An you

any eye

behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

Ibid. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.

Act iii. Sc. 1. Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip!

Ibid. Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. lbid.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.

Sc. 2. I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

Sc. 4. Put thyself into the trick of singularity.

Ibid. ’T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan.

Ibid. This is very midsummer madness.

Ibid. What, man! defy the Devil: consider, he is an enemy to mankind.

Ibid. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Ibid. More matter for a May morning.

Ibid. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law.

Ibid. An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I’ld have seen him damned ere I'ld have challenged him.

Ibid. 1 1 Act iii. Sc. 5 in Dyce.

Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something. Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.1
Out of the jaws of death.”

Ibid. 1 As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That that is, is.

Act iv. Sc. 2. Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl ?

Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Ibid. Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

Act r. Sc. 1. For the rain it raineth every day.

Ibid. They say we are Almost as like as eggs.

The Winter's Tale. Act i. Sc. 2. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief.

Act iii. Sc. 2. A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.

Act iv. Sc. 3.3 A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Ibid. O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, -a malady

1 Act iii. sc. 5 in Dyce.

2 Into the jaws of death. — Tennyson: The Charge of the Light Brigade, stanza 3.

In the jaws of death. Du Barras : Dirine Weekes and Workes, second week, first day, part ir.

8 Act iv. sc. 2 in Dyce, Knight, Singer, Staunton, and White.

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