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Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and

The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,

The flower-de-luce being one. The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 4.1

When you do dance, I wish you

A wave o' the sea,2 that you might ever do
Nothing but that.

Ibid.

I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.

To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.

Lord of thy presence and no land beside.

Ibid.

Ibid.

King John. Act i. Sc. 1.

And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men's names.
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth.

For courage mounteth with occasion.

I would that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess' door.

Ibid.

Ibid.

He is the half part of a blessed man,

Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,

Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.

Ibid.

Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!

Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

1 Act iv. Sc. 3 in Dyce, Knight, Singer, Staunton, and White.

2 Like a wave of the sea. - James i. 6.

3 Act ii. Sc. 2 in Singer, Staunton, and Knight.

Ibid.3

Sc. 2.3

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.1

Here I and sorrows sit;

Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!

Thou little valiant, great in villany!

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by

To teach thee safety.

Ibid.1

Ibid.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,

And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Ibid.

That no Italian priest

Shall tithe or toll in our dominions.

Ibid.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

When Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.2
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
How now, foolish rheum!

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,

To throw a perfume on the violet,

To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

1 Act ii. Sc. 2 in White.

Sc. 4.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2.

2 When fortune flatters, she does it to betray. - PUBLIUS SYRUS: Maxim 278.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault

Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.1

King John. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
Make haste; the better foot before.

I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news.
Another lean unwashed artificer.

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done!

Mocking the air with colours idly spread.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.

"T is strange that death should sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings

His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Now my soul hath elbow-room.

This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Come the three corners of the world in arms,

Sc. 7.

Ibid.

Ibid.

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.

Ibid.

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.

King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Ibid.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

Sc. 3.

Truth hath a quiet breast.

All places that the eye of heaven visits

Ibid.

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.

Ibid.

1 Qui s'excuse, s'accuse (He who excuses himself accuses himself). — GABRIEL MEURIER: Trésor des Sentences. 1530-1601.

3 See page 63, note 2.

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

King Richard 11. Act i. Sc. 3.

The tongues of dying men

Enforce attention like deep harmony.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,

This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands,

Ibid.

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

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Fires the proud tops of the eastern pines.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king.
Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return!
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

A nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

King Richard II. Act üï. Sc. 2.

Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall- and farewell king!

He is come to open

The purple testament of bleeding war.
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little little grave, an obscure grave.

Gave

His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
A mockery king of snow.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious.

As for a camel

To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.1

So shaken as we are, so wan with care.

Ibid.

Sc. 3.

Ibid.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

In those holy fields

Over whose acres walked those blessed feet

Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd

For our advantage on the bitter cross.

the moon.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of

Old father antic the law.

Ibid.

1 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. - MATT. xix. 24.

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