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RESPECT TO THE WORLD.

You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care

The Merchant of Venice, A. 1. Sc. 2.

REVENGE.

Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge

Had ftomach for them all.

Cæfar's fpirit ranging for revenge,

Othello, A. 5. Sc. z.

With Ate by his fide come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry Havock! and let flip the dogs of war.

Julius Cæfar, A 3. Sc. 4
Lo, by thy fide where Rape, and Murder, ftands;
Now give fome 'furance that thou art Revenge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;
And then I'll come and be thy waggoner,
And whirl along with thee about the globe;
Provide two proper palfries black as jet,
To hale thy vengeful waggon fwift away,
And find out murders in their guilty caves;
And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will difmount, and by thy waggon-wheel
Trot like a fervile footman all day long;
Even from Hyperion's rifing in the east,
Until his very downfall in the fea.
And day by day I'll do this heavy task,
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.

Titus Andronicus, A. 5. Sc. 4.

RHYMER 9.

I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these fame metre ballad-mongers.
I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree;
And that would nothing fet my teeth on edge,
Nothing fo much as mincing poetry:
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a fhuffling nag.

Henry IV. Part I. A. 3. Se, 1.

RICHARD

RICHARD III.

CHARACTER.

Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy fchool-days frightful, defperate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, fly, and bloody.

Richard III. A. 4. Sc. 5.

RING IN A DARK PIT.

Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring that lightens all the hole;
Which, like a taper in fome monument,
Doth fhine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks;
And fhews the ragged entrails of this pit.

'Titus Andronicus, A. 2. Sc. 7.

RISING PASSION.

I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee. My child, farewell;
We'll no more meet, no more see one another.
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter,
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,

Which I must needs call mine; thou art a boil,
A plague-fore, or emboffed carbuncle,

In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee,
Let fhame come when it will, I do not call it;
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leifure.
I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.

ROBIN

King Lear, A. 2. Sc. 12.

GOODFELLOW,

I am that merry wanderer of the night:
I jeft to Oberon, and make him fmile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:
And fometimes lurk I in a goffip's .bowl,
very likeness of a roafted crab;
And when the drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlaps pour the ale.
The wifeft aunt, telling the faddeft tale,
Sometime for three-foot ftool mistaketh me;

In

Then

Then flip I from her bum, down topples fhe,
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough;

And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe,
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and fwear
A merrier hour was never wasted there.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 2. Sc. 1.

ROYALTY.

Do but think

How fweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whofe circuit is Elyfium,

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

Henry VI. Part III. A. 1. Sc. 4.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of reftlefs cares:
So that between their titles, and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

King Richard 111. A. 2. Sc. §,

RUMOUR.

I from the orient to the drooping weft,
Making the wind my poft-horse, ftill unfold
The acts commenced in this ball of earth;
Upon my tongue continual flanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce;
Stuffing the ears of men with falfe reports.
Ifpeak of peace, while covert enmity,
Under the fmile of fafety, wounds the world;
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful mufters, and prepar'd defence,
Whilft the big ear, fwol'n with fome other griefs,
Is thought with child by the ftern tyrant War,
And no fuch matter? Rumour is a pipe,
Blown by furmises, jealoufies, conjectures;
And of fo eafy and so plain a ftop,

That the blunt monster, with uncounted heads,
The still discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. Henry IV. Part II. A. 1. Sc. 1.

SATIRE.

SATIRE.

Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the fea,
Till that the very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I fay, the city woman bears
The coft of princes on unworthy shoulders ?
Who can come in, and say that I mean her,
When fuch a one as fhe, fuch is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,

That fays, his bravery is not on my coft;
Thinking that I mean him; but therein fuits
His folly to the metal of my speech?

There then; how then? what then? Let me fee wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,

Then he hath wrong'd himself: if he be free,

Why, then my taxing, like a wild-goofe, flies
Unclaim'd of any man.

As You Like It, A. 2. Sc. 7.

SCOLDING.

Think you a little din can daunt my ears?
Have I not, in my time, heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the fea puff'd up with winds,
Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard

Loud larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,

That gives not half fo great a blow to hear,
As will a chefnut in a farmer's fire?

The Taming of the Shrew, A. 1. Sc. 3.

SCORNFUL AND SATIRICAL BEAUTY.

Difdain and fcorn ride fparkling in her eyes,
Mifprizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself fo highly, that to her

All matter elfe feems weak: fhe cannot love,
Nor take no fhape nor project of affection,

She is fo felf-endear'd. Much Ado about Nothing, A. 3. Sc. 1.

I never

I never yet faw man,

How wife, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But he would fpell him backward: if fair-faced,
She'd fwear the gentleman fhou'd be her fifter;,
If black, why Nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a launce ill-headed;
If low, an aglet very vilely cut:

If fpeaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If filent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns fhe every man the wrong fide out,
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which fimplenefs and merit purchaseth."

SEASONS.

The crow doth fing as fweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should fing by day,"
When every goofe is cackling, would be thought
No better a mufician than the wren.

How many things by season season❜d are
To their right praife, and true perfection!

Ibid.

The Merchant of Venice, A. 5. Sc. 1.

SEDUCTION.

This man hath witch'd the bosom of my child:
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou haft given her rhimes,
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child:
Thou haft by moonlight at her window fung,
With feigning voice, verfes of feigning love;
And ftol'n th' impreffion of her phantafy,
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nofegays, fweetmeats (meffengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth):
With cunning haft thou filch'd my daughter's heart,
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
To ftubborn harshness.

A Midfummer Night's Dream, A. 1. Sc. r.

SELF -ABASEMENT.

Though for myself alone,

I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better: yet for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;

A thoufand

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