It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir1 abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1.

So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.2

The memory be green.

Ibid.

Sc. 2.

With an auspicious and a dropping eye,3

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,

In equal scale weighing delight and dole.

Ibid.

The head is not more native to the heart.

Ibid.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

Ibid.

All that lives must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ibid.

Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not "seems."
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black.

Ibid.

But I have that within which passeth show;

These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Ibid.

'Tis a fault to Heaven,

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,

To reason most absurd.

Ibid

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

1 "Can walk" in White.

2 "Eastern hill" in Dyce, Singer, Staunton, and White.

8 "One auspicious and one dropping eye" in Dyce, Singer, and Staunton

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

That it should come to this!

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.

Ibid.

It is not nor it cannot come to good.

Ibid.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

Or ever I had seen that day.

Ibid.

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Ibid.

He was a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

Ibid.

Season your admiration for a while.

Ibid.

In the dead vast and middle of the night.

Ibid.

Arm'd at point exactly, cap-a-pe.1

Ibid.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ibid.

1 "Armed at all points" in Singer and White.

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve.

Ibid.

Foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

Ibid.

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute.

Sc. 3.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede.1

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops 2 of steel.

Ibid

1 And may you better reck the rede,

Than ever did the adviser.

BURNS: Epistle to a Young Friend.

"Hooks" in Singer.

Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,

Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 3.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Ibid.

Springes to catch woodcocks.

Ibid.

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.

Ibid.

Be somewhat scanter of your maiden

presence.

Ibid.

Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Sc. 4.

But to my mind, though I am native here

And to the manner born, it is a custom

More honoured in the breach than the observance.

Ibid.

Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,

King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!

Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,

Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous,1 and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!

Ibid.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Ibid.

I am thy father's spirit,

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,2
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,

Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: 3
But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!

Sc. 5

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf.

Ibid

1 And makes night hideous.- POPE: The Dunciad, book ii. line 166.

2 "To lasting fires" in Singer.

844 Porcupine" in Singer and Staunton.

4 "Rots itself" in Staunton.