At lovers' perjuries,

They say, Jove laughs.1

Romeo and Juliet. Act ii. Sc. 2.2

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Ibid.2

The god of my idolatry.

Ibid.2

Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say, "It lightens."

Ibid.2

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

Ibid.2

How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

Ibid.2

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Ibid.2

O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give,
Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometimes by action dignified.

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.

Stabbed with a white wench's black eye.

The courageous captain of complements.

Sc. 3.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Sc. 4.

Ibid.

1 Perjuria ridet amantum Jupiter (Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of

lovers). TIBULLUS, iii. 6, 49.

2 Act ii. sc. 1 in White.

One, two, and the third in your bosom.

Romeo and Juliet. Act ii. Sc. 4.

O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

I am the very pink of courtesy.

Ibid.

Ibid.

A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

My man's as true as steel.1

These violent delights have violent ends.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Here comes the lady! O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Sc. 6.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of

meat.

A word and a blow.2

A plague o' both your houses!

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 't is enough, 't will serve.

When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,

And

pay no worship to the garish sun.

Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!

Ibid.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

O, that deceit should dwell

Was ever book containing such vile matter

So fairly bound?

In such a gorgeous palace!

Ibid.

1 True as steel. - CHAUCER: Troilus and Creseide, book v. Compare Troilus and Cressida, act iii. sc. 2.

2 Word and a blow. - DRYDEN: Amphitryon, act i. sc. 1. BUNYAN: Pilgrim's Progress, part i.

Thou cutt'st my

head off with a golden axe.

Romeo and Juliet. Act iii. Sc. 3.

They may seize

On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
The damned use that word in hell.
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
All these woes shall serve

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Sc. 5.

Ibid.

For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Ibid.

Villain and he be many miles asunder.

Ibid.

Thank me no thanks, nor proud me no prouds.

Ibid.

Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne.

I do remember an apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells.

Meagre were his looks,

Act iv. Sc. 2.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

The world is not thy friend nor the world's law.

Ibid.

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Her beauty makes

This vault a feasting presence full of light.

Romeo and Juliet. Act v. Sc. 3.

Beauty's ensign yet

Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.

Eyes, look your last!

Arms, take your last embrace!

Ibid.

Ibid

But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,

Leaving no tract behind.

Timon of Athens. Act i. Sc. 1.

Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, — honest

water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.

Sc. 2.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself;
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Every room

Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy.

'Tis lack of kindly warmth.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

We have seen better days.

Are not within the leaf of pity writ.

I'll example you with thievery :

The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon 's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement: each thing's a thief.
Life's uncertain voyage.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 2.
Ibid.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Sc. 5.

Act iv. Sc. 2.

Sc. 3.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.

As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather.

Julius Cæsar. Act i. Sc. 1

The live-long day.

Ibid.

Beware the ides of March.

Sc. 2.

Well, honour is the subject of my story.

I cannot tell what you and other men

Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

Ibid

"Darest thou, Cassius, now

Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Conjure with 'em,

Ibid.

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!

Ibid

There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome

As easily as a king.

Ibid.