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paramoured the Turk: False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women: Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.

KING LEAR, A. 3, s. 4.




My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer; the feast is cold,
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making,
'Tis given with welcome: To feed, were best at

From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony,
Meeting were bare without it.

MACBETH, A. 3, s. 4.


LEST Rome herself be bane unto herself;
And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to,
Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away,
Do shameful execution on herself.
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
Grave witnesses of true experience,
Cannot induce you to attend my words,-
Speak, Rome's dear friend; as erst our ancestor,
When with his solemn tongue he did discourse,
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear,

The story of that baleful burning night,
When subtle Greeks surpriz'd king Priam's

Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitched our ears,
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in,
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.-
My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel;
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,

But floods of tears will drown my oratory,
And break my very utterance; even i'the time
When it should move you to attend me most,
Lending your kind commiseration.



YOUR will be done; this must my comfort be,That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. RICHARD II., A. 1, s. 3.


A HEAVY sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim

As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,

Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now;

What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,

Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
K. RICHARD II., A. 1, s. 3.


THOU art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years! Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

K. HENRY IV., PART I., A. 2, s. 4.


You undergo too strict a paradox,
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair:

Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd

To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling
Upon the head of valour; which, indeed,
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
When sects and factions were newly born:
He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer

The worst that man can breathe; and make his wrongs

His outsides; wear them like his raiment, care


And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.

If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,
What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill?
You cannot make gross sins look clear;
Το revenge is no valour, but to bear.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 3, s. 5.


SHE took them, read them in my presence;
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be the king o'er her.

Patience and sorrow strove

Who should express her goodliest. You have


Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears

Were like a better day: Those happy smiles, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,

As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.—In brief,


Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all

Could so become it.

Once, or twice, she heav'd the name of father
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;
Cried, Sisters! sisters!-Shame of ladies! sisters!
Kent! father! sisters! What i'the storm? i'the

Let pity not be believ'd!-There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,

And clamour moisten'd:-then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

It is the stars,

The stars above us, govern our conditions;
Else one self mate and mate could not beget
Such different issues.

KING LEAR, a. 4, s. 3.

BEAUTY AND VIRTUE'S ANGER WITH UGLINESS AND SIN. WHAT, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou had'st but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,

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