Have you a precedent for this Commiffion? I be

lieve not any.

The fubject's grief comes through commiffions, Which compel from each, part of his substance, And the pretence for this is nam'd the wars with France.

Hen. VIII. A& I.

The CONG-SS,

-Why tribute? Why fhould we pay tribute If Cæfar can hide the Sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we'll pay him tribute for light; elfe, Sir, no more tribute.

Earl T- -P.

Cymb, A& III.

Is your blood

So madly hot that no difcourfe of reason,
Nor fear of bad fuccefs in a bad caufe

Can qualify the fame?

Lord F

Troilus and Creffida, A&t IÏ.

-TH.

Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelli gence of a whore ; -the parrot will not do more for an almond, than he for a commodious drab ;

Letchery,

Letchery, letchery ftill wars, nothing else holds

fashion.

Troilus and Creffida, A&t V.

Mr. HANS S.

You are most bound to the King Who lets go by no ventages, that may

Prefer you; frame yourself.

To orderly follicits, that you in all obey;

Save when command to your difmiffion tends,
And therein be you fenfelefs.

Cymb. A&t II.

The new Coм-SS

-R and his S.

RY.

Nay, 'tis most certain the stalled rhymers

Ballad us out of tune; Anthony

Will be brought perfum'd forth, and I fhall fee Some fqueaking mimic boy attend his greatness, Anthony and Cleopatra, Act V,

Rude am I in my fpeech,

And litfle blefs'd with the soft phrase of peace ;
For fince thefe arms of mine had seven years pith,
'Till how fome nine moons wafted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field:

Othello, A&I.

Sir

Sir C-BY,

-My better parts

Are all thrown down, and that which thould.

Stand up

Is but a quintaine, a mere lifeless block.

As you Like it, A& I.

Duke of A

I cannot tell

R.

What Heaven has given him; let fome graver eye
Pierce into that: but I can fee his pride

Peep through each part of him; whence has he that?

Lady BRIDGET T

Hen. VIII A& I.

HE

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour thè helpless balm of my poor eyes.~
Curs'd be the hand that made thefe fatal holes,
And makes me wretched by the death of thee.

King Richard III. A&I.

Mr. V-N-Re

Why then taxation, like a wild goofe, flies an

That furly fpirit, Melancholy, has bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy-thick.

King John, A& III.

CHR D'E-N.

Question, my Lord, no farther of the cafe,
How or which way; 'tis fure they found fome part
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
Pucelle hath bravely played her part.

Hen. VI. A& II,

FIN I S.

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