Out of my lean and low ability

I'll lend you something.

Out of the jaws of death.2

Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.1

Ibid.1

As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That that is, is.

Act iv. Sc. 2.

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

For the rain it raineth every day.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.
Ibid.

For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take

The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes

Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, - a malady

1 Act iii. sc. 5 in Dyce.

Ibid.

2 Into the jaws of death. -TENNYSON: The Charge of the Light Brigade,

stanza 3.

In the jaws of death. - DU BARTAS: Divine Weekes and Workes, sec ond week, first day, part iv.

8 Act iv. sc. 2 in Dyce, Knight, Singer, Staunton, and White.

Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and

The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,

The flower-de-luce being one. The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 43

When you do dance, I wish you

A wave o' the sea,2 that you might ever do

Nothing but that.

Ibid.

I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.

To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.

Lord of thy presence and no land beside.

Ibid.

Ibid.

King John. Act i. Sc. 1.

And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men's names.
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth.
For courage mounteth with occasion.

I would that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that 's made for me.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess' door.

Ibid.

He is the half part of a blessed man,

Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,

Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.

Ibid.

Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!

Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

1 Act iv. Sc. 3 in Dyce, Knight, Singer, Staunton, and White.

2 Like a wave of the sea. - James i. 6.

8 Act ii. Sc. 2 in Singer, Staunton, and Knight.

Ibid.3

Sc. 2.8

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.

King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.1

Here I and sorrows sit;

Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!

Ibid

Thou little valiant, great in villany!

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by

To teach thee safety.

Ibid.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,

And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Ibid.

That no Italian priest

Shall tithe or toll in our dominions.

Ibid.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

When Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.2
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
How now, foolish rheum!

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,

To throw a perfume on the violet,

To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

1 Act ii. Sc. 2 in White.

Sc. 4.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Sc. 2.

2 When fortune flatters, she does it to betray. - PUBLIUS SYRUS Maxim 278.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault

Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.1
King John. Act iv. Sc. 2.

We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
Make haste; the better foot before.

I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news.
Another lean unwashed artificer.

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done!

Mocking the air with colours idly spread.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1

'Tis strange that death should sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,2
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings

His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Now my soul hath elbow-room.

This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Come the three corners of the world in arms,

Sc. 7.

Ibid.

Ibid.

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.

Ibid.

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.

King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Ibid.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

Sc. 3.

Truth hath a quiet breast.

All places that the eye of heaven visits

Ibid.

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.

Ibid.

1 Qui s'excuse, s'accuse (He who excuses himself accuses himself). — GABRIEL MEURIER: Trésor des Sentences. 1530-1601.

8 See page 63, note 2.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

The tongues of dying men

Enforce attention like deep harmony.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall

Against the envy of less happier lands,

Ibid.

Or as a moat defensive to a house,

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return!
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.