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Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldft do there,
O conftancy, be ftrong upon my fide!
Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!
I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
How hard it is for women to keep counfel!

Julius Cæfar, A. 2. Sc. 4.

O, good Iago!

What fhall I do to win my Lord again?
Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven,
I know not how I loft him.-Here I kneel:
If e'er my will did trefpfs 'gainst his love,
Either in difcourfe, or thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;

Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will-though he do fhake me off'
To beggarly divorcement-love him dearly,
Comfort forfwear me! Unkindness may do much ;
And his unkindness may defeat
But never taint
my life,
my love. I cannot fay-Whore;
It does abhor me, now I fpeak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.


When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So fweet is zealous contemplation.

Othello, A. 4. Sc. 2.


King Richard III. A. 3. Sc. 7.


Ifwear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistening grief,
And wear a golden forrow.

Henry VIII. A. z. Sc. 3.

Contention, like a horse



Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

Henry IV. Part II. A. 1. Sc. 1.



Can counsel, and give comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tafting it,
Their counsel turns to paffion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter ftrong madness with a filken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words.
No, no; 'tis all men's office to'fpeak patience
To thofe that wring under the load of forrow;
But no man's virtue, nor fufficiency,
To be fo moral, when he fhall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counfel;
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Much Ado about Nothing, A. 5. Sc. 1.


This is the prettieft low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-fward; nothing fhe does, or feems,
But fmacks of fomething greater than herself,
Too noble for this place. The Winter's Tale, A. 4. Sc. 3.


By how much unexpected, by fo much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occafion.

King John, A. 2. Sc. z.


In his youth

He had the wit which I can well obferve
To-day in our young lords; but they may jeft,
Till their own fcorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honour:
So like a courtier, nor contempt or bitterness
Were in him; pride or fharpness if there were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when



Exceptions bid him fpeak; and, at that time,
His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him
He us'd as creatures of another place,
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times.

All's Well that Ends Well, A. 1. Sc. 1.


-Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You facrifice your tears, your fighs, your heart:
Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moift it again; and frame fome feeling line
That may discover fuch integrity:

For Orpheus' lyre was ftrung with poets' finews,
Whofe golden touch could foften steel and ftones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forfake unfounded deeps to dance on fands.
After your dire lamenting elegies,

Vifit by night your lady's chamber-window
With fome fweet concert; to their inftruments
Tune a deploring dump: the night's dead filence
Will well become fuch fweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3. Sc. z.


I know him a notorious liar ;

Think him a great way fool, folely a coward :
Yet these fix'd evils fit fo fit in him,

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind. Full oft we fee
Cold Wisdom waiting on fuperfluous Folly.

All's Well that Ends Well, A. 1. Sc. 1.


That which in mean men we intitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts.

King Richard II. A. 1. Sc. 2.

сохсом в.

He did compliment with his dug before he fuck'd it Thus he (and many more of the fame breed that I know the droffy age doats on) only get the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yefty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out. Hamlet, A. 5. Sc. 2.


The course of true love never did run smooth;
Or, if there were a fympathy in choice,
War, death, or ficknefs did lay fiege to it,
Making it momentary as a found,
Swift as a fhadow, fhort as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That (in a fpleen) unfolds both heav'n and earth;
And ere a man hath pow'r to fay, Behold,
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confufion.

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


And, gentle friends,

Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a difh fit for the Gods,
Not hew him as a carcafe fit for hounds.
And let our hearts, as fubtle masters do,
Stir up their fervants to an act of rage,

And after feem to chide them. Julius Cæfar, A. 2. Sc. 2.


Danger knows full well,

That Cafar is more dangerous than he:
We were two lions litter'd in one day,
And I the elder and more terrible.
Send danger from the Eaft unto the Weft,
So honour crofs it from the North to South;
And let them grapple.-O! the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to ftart a hare.

Ibid, A. z. Sc. 4.

Henry IV. Part I. A. 1. Sc. 3.

A fceptre

A fceptre, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd as gain'd;
And he that stands upon a flippery place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.


The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy eaft with spots of grey.
Much Ado about Nothing, A. 5. Sc. 3.
The filent hours fteal on,

And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
Richard III. A. 5. Sc. 4.


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King John, A. 3. Sc. 4.

It were for me

To throw my fceptre at th' injurious Gods;
To tell them that this world did equal theirs,
Till they had ftol'n our jewel. All's but naught,
Patience is fottish, and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad. Then is it fin,
To rush into the fecret houfe of death,

Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?
What, what? Good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?
My noble girls?-Ah, women, women! look,
Our lamp is spent, 'tis out-Good Sirs, take heart,
We'll bury him; and then what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us.
This cafe of that huge spirit now is cold.
Antony and Cleopatra, A. 4. Sc. 13.

Come away;

My defolation does begin to make
A better life; 'tis paltry to be Cæfar:
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,
A minister of her will: and it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Which fhackles accidents, and bolts up change;
Which fleeps, and never palates more the dung;
The beggar's nurfe, and Cafar's.

C 3

Ibid, A. 5. Sc. 2.

- I,

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