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the Thames, and cooled glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe, think of that;-hissing hot ;-think of that, Master Brook.


A Corinthian, a lad of mettle.


Thou art left, Marcius:

M. W. iii. 5.

H.IV. PT. I. ii. 4.

A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible

Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,

Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.

His nature is too noble for the world:

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

C. i. 4.

Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth :
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
And, being angry, does forget that ever

He heard the name of death.


C. iii. 1.

Your purpos'd low correction,

K. L. ii. 2.

Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches,
For pilferings and most common trespasses,

Are punished with.

My masters of St. Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?


For full well he knows,

He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion;
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,

He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife,
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.


H.VI. PT. II. ii. 1.

H. IV. PT. II. iv. 1.

Those that much are of gain so fond,
That oft they have not that which they possess;
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less.



Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye!
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge,
That no king can corrupt.


Her face, the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
Sorrow were ever raz'd, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.


Pr'ythee peace

I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.

H.VIII. iii. 1.

Things out of hope are compass't oft with vent'ring.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,

And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea,

P.P. i. 1.

M. i. 7.


And give more strength to that which hath too much;
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?

By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occasion.

For this last,

Before and in Corioli, let me say,

H.VI. PT. III. v. 4.

I cannot speak him home; he stopp'd the fliers;
And by his rare example, make the coward

Turn terror into sport: as waves before

A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,

K. J. ii. 1.

And fell below his stern: his sword, death's stamp,
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot,
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was tim'd with dying cries.

But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatener and outface the brow

C. ii. 2.


Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviour from the great,
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away; and glister like the god of war,
When he intendeth to become the field:
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said! Forage, and run

To meet displeasure further from the doors;
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

K. J. v. 1.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion. M. A. i. 1. When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce

His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd
Both field and city ours he never stood
To ease his breath with panting.

That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone, upholds the day.
Alone he enter'd

The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off,
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioli, like a plane.

Safe, Anthony; Brutus is safe enough:
I dare assure thee, that no enemy
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:

The gods defend him from so great a shame!
When you do find him, or alive or dead,

He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

Our then dictator

Whom without praise I point at, saw him fight,
When with his Amazonian chin he drove
The bristled lips before him: he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view,
Slew three opposers.

C. ii. 2.

K. J. v. 4.

C. ii. 2.

J. C. v. 4.

C. ii. 2,

R. III. v. 4.

Slave, I have set my life upon a cast
And I will stand the hazard of the die.


Do you take the court for Paris garden? you rude slaves, leave your gaping. H.VIII. v. 3.


Let the court of France show me such another: I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond: thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.


M. W. iii. 3.

I am a courtier. See'st thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receiveth not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt?

You shall mark

Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That doting on his own obsequious bondage,

Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,

W. T. iv. 3.

For nought but provender; and when he's old, cashier'd.

But howso'er, no simple man that sees

This jarring discord of nobility,

This shouldering of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favorites,
But that it does presage some ill event.


0. i. 1.

H. IV. PT. I. iv. 1.

That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Every night he comes
With music of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

I will attend her here,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say, that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain,
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :
Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say,-she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week;

T. G. iii. 1.

A. W. iii. 7.


If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day

When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

T. S. ii. 1.

H.VI. PT. III. iii. 2.

My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

She swore,-In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd

That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me;

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake :
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.

O. i. 3.

King Edward.-What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

Lady Grey.-My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. H. VI. PT. III. iii. 2.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house:
Write loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away.

T. N. i. 5.

Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.

Say, that upon the altar of her beauty

You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line,
That may discover such integrity.

I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And when two raging fires meet together,

T. G. iii. 1.

T. G. iii. 2.

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