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A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune.
The world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with works;
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
I thought thy disposition better temper❜d.
O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous; the second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as If you said so, then I said so; and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.
O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatched house. 10-iii. 3.
This is a slight unmeritable man,
Meet to be sent on errands.
And though we lay these honours on this man,
A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.
He ambled up and down
With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury.
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. 10-iii. 4.
My friends-they praise me, and make an ass of me; now, my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so
that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
Hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be.
Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 22—v. 1.
I am a feather for each wind that blows. 13-ii. 3.
Thou should'st not have been old, before thou hadst been wise.
Well, whiles I am a beggar I will rail,
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
But, pray you, stir no embers up.
Anger 's my meat; I sup upon myself,
'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.
The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness, that infirm and choleric years bring with them.
His discontents are unremovably
Coupled to nature.
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work.
A man, whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
How green are you, and fresh in this old world!
Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
And batters down himself: What should I say?
No care, no stop! so senseless of expense,
How things go from him; nor resumes no care
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.
What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel.
Alas, he is shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bowboy's butt-shafte.
There should be small love 'mongst these sweet
And all this court'sy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey".
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose.
He would make his will
What would you have me? go to the wars, would you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to buy him a wooden one. 33-iv. 6.
They should be good men; their affairsg ash righte
But all hoods make not monks.
Man is degenerated; his strain or lineage is worn down to a monkey.
1 As, i. e. are.