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THE WIFE'S REMONSTRANCE.
SIR, I desire you, do me right and justice;
And to bestow your pity on me: for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven
witness,

I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable:
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,

Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry,
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your desire,

Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends

Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy? what friend of mine
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you; If, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person, in God's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up

To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,

The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by
many

A year before: It is not to be question'd

That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore I humbly

Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel
I will implore; if not; i'the name of God,
Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

K. HENRY VIII., A. 2, s. 4.

THE WIFE THE GREATER VILLAIN. GLAMIS thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promis'd:-Yet do I fear thy

nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great;

Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st

highly,

That would'st thou holily; would'st not play falsely,

And yet would'st wrongly win: thou'd'st have, great Glamis,

That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it :

And that which rather thou dost fear to do,

Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.

MACBETH, A. 1, s. 5.

THE WILL FOR THE DEED.

THE kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do,

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of sawcy, and audacious eloquence.

Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my capacity.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, A. 5, s. 1.

THE WISE WOMAN.

SHE that was ever fair, and never proud;
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud;
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay;
Fled from her wish, and yet said,—now I may ;

She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly:
She that in wisdom never was so frail,

To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind,
See suitors following, and not look behind;
She was a wight,—if ever such wight were.

OTHELLO, A. 2, s. 1.

THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.

GLOSTER.

Welcome, dear cousin, my

thoughts' sovereign:

The weary way hath made you melancholy. PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the

way

Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy :
I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLO. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years

Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit :
No more can you distinguish of a man,

Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous;
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts:
God keep you from them, and from such false
friends!

PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were none.

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

THE WOMAN'S WEAPON.

I DARE be sworn :

These dangerous unsafe lunes o' the king! beshrew them!

He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister;
And never to my red-look'd anger be

The trumpet any more:-Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the queen;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loudest: We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o'the child;
The silence often of pure innocence

Persuades, when speaking fails.

:

Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have if wit flow from it, As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do good.

WINTER'S TALE, A. 2, s. 2.

THE WORK OF THE WARRIOR.

THESE are the ushers of Marcius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears;

Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; Which being advanc'd, declines; and then men

die.

CORIOLANUS, A. 2, s. 1.

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