Dictionary of Shakespearian quotations
i;''l ■ Ci'', :■! i>< I.J (i. ■' .mK I'.' :;';':''■;•?:*;. li ;ijP)i ii';v'- ■';.',,, } i 'I .i :'t(,;,,;; ;i.:'' 'AviJ',.M",,i'. I <5"i> A(5f^ DICTIONAEY OF EXHIBITING THE MOST FORCIBLE PASSAGES ILLUSTRATIYE OF THE VARIOUS PASSIONS, AFFECTIONS AND EMOTIONS OF THE HUMAN MIND. SELECTED AND ARRANGED IN ALPHABETIC ORDER, FROM THE WRITINGS OF Jifiilatrelpliia: PUBLISHED BY F. BELL. SOLD BY DANIELS & SMITH, No. 36 North Sixth Street. 1851. :$^^. .%^ A 1 (gxylntmtinir on THE ABBREVIATED REFERENCE TO THE CONTEXT, APPENDED TO EACH EXTRACT OR QUOTATION. A. 0. Antony and Cleopatra. A. W. All's Well that Ends Well. A. Y. As You Like It. C Coriolanus. C. E. Comedy of Errors. Cym. Cymbeline. H. Hamlet. Henry Fourtli, Part H. IV. PT. I. First. H. IV. PT. II. Second. H. VI. PT. I. First. H. VI. PT. II. Second. H. VI. PT. in. Third. J. O. Julius Caesar. H. V. Henry Fifth. H. VIII. Henry Eighth. K. J. King John. Henry Fourth, Part Henry Sixth, Part Henry Sixth, Part Henry Sixth, Part K. L. King Lear. R. II. Richard the Second. B. in. Eichard the Third. L. L. Love's Labour Lost. 31. Macbeth. 31. A. Much Ado about Nothing, 31. 31. Measure for Measure. 31.3^. Midsummer Night's Dreain. 31. V. Merchant of Venice. 31. W. Merry Wives of Windsor. 0. Othello. P. P. Pericles, Prince of Tyra. P. J. Romeo and Juliet. T. Tempest. T. A. Timon of Athens. Tit. And. Titus Andronieus. T. C. Troilus and Cressida. T. O. Two Gentlemen of Verona. T.N. Twelfth Night. T. S. Taming of the Shrew. W. T. Winter's Tale. *js-^ The Act is expressed by Romaji numerals j the /Scene by Arabio figures. Example : A. C. iv. 7, signifies, Antony and Cleopatra, Act the Fourth, Scene the Seventh. m. xttatt The matcMess genius of Shakespeare has furnislied occupation for authors, from the very age in which he wrote, down to the pre- sent day ; so that, independent of the innumerable editions of his plays, from the original authentic copies, to the modern mutila- tions represented under his name upon the stage, we have more than two hundred works of which Shakespeare and his writings are the subject. Such being the case, it may be thought necessary, for one who ventures to add to the number, to offer some apology to the public for so doing. That tendered for the present compilation is founded on the belief, that among all these works, there does not exist one which effectively occupies the ground here taken, and very few which even attempt to connect Shakespeare's felicitous expressions — exhibiting, as they do, a matchless insight into human nature — with the various casualties, motives, and objects of ordinary life. Such a task, if performed with judgment and faithfulness, could hardly fail to prove both pleasing and useful. In support of the opinion that this task yet remained to be accomplished, it will be necessary to submit a few observations concerning the works which profess to have the same object, upon the comparative merits of which with the Shake speakian Dictionary, its pretensions to public favour must be founded. Ayscough's "Index to ShakespeaTe," is a work of great labour, and, as a verbal compilation, is doubtless of utility ; but it is a dictionary of the poet's tvords, rather than of his expressions, giving only so much of the context as was necessary to elucidate the peculiar sense wherein each word is to be understood, and con- necting this with remarkable speeches only by means of refer- ences. From almost any arrangement of the words of such an author, occasional scintillations will necessarily flash out ; but in v A 2 ^htiuh this case, the pleasing effect, which thus occurs, is destroyed when we arrive at the next word in the catalogue. We may learn to number the occasions wherein each word recurs throughout the author's writings, but what have the imagination or the feelings to do with such a calculation ? We may, indeed, retain the con- sciousness we bring with us of treading on hallowed ground, but feel not the inspiring influence of the divinity. Certain smaller compilations, put forth under the captivating title of "Beauties of Shakespeare," contain only the more remark- able speeches, and, for the most part, are confined to such as are clothed in verse ; omitting altogether the thousands of expres- sions strewed profusely throughout the prose speeches and col- loquies, wherein are to be foiind all those most surprising flashes of description, alternating from the grotesque to the sublime, which peculiarly distinguish the Bard of Avon from all other Tniters, either ancient or modern. In this class of compilations must be included a work, pub- lished about ten years since, "by the author of the Peerage and Baronetage Chart," and called "A Dictionary of Quotations fi'om Shakespeare ;" but the same objection that attends the " Beauties," must be made against the "Dictionary." The quotations are given exclusively from the measured poetry of the author, while the prose speeches and colloquies are wholly neglected. Fearful of being suspected of speaking unfairly, concerning a work which comes, perhaps, the nearest in collision with the present, a specimen is here introduced, whence the reader may form some opinion of the editorial discrimination which has been exhibited. Under the head of Drunkenness, the description of Danish regal ceremonies is intro» duced from Hamlet : — " Give me the cups ; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth, Now the king drinks to Hamlet." Under the same head we find inserted the pledge of returning amity between Brutus and Cassius, taken from the play of Julius Csesar: — " Give me a howl of wine ; In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius." vi '^htfaih As another illustration of tlie same subject, we liave the expression of Richard, endeayouring to rally his downcast spirits against the pressui'e of a guilty conscience ; — • '' Give me a bowl of wine ; I have not that alacrity of spirit Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have/* Now it is difl&cult to conceive how these different quotations re- late to drunkenness, save only as they refer to the act of drinking ; without which, that wretched state or propensity which we express by the word drunkenness, cannot indeed have existence. " The Aphorisms of Shakespeare," edited by Mr. Capel Lofft, and printed and published at Bury St. Edmunds about twenty years ago, formed a collection worthy of that highly gifted gentleman. Mr. Lofft extracted sentences from Shakespeare, beginning with the play of Hamlet. To each extract he prefixed a synonym, or concisely descriptive sentence. Where he conceived the author to be obscxu'e, from having used terms that have become obsolete, or encumbered by expletives, he took the liberty of altering the text, and of reducing any extract according to his own pleasure, into an aphoristic compass. The result proved, as might have been ex- pected from so competent an editor, and such rich materials, one of the most choice collections of aphoristic wisdom that ever issued from the press. The defects of Mr, Lofft's book were, that he ar- ranged each play separately, without any classification of subjects, or alphabetical order : hence its inconvenie >ce as a work of refer- ence. Suppose it were required to be known what Shakespeare had said on the subject of Grief, 3Ian, Fride, or any other matter, a person would probably require to look for these in as many different places, as Shakespeare wrote plays. As a Dictionary of Shake- spearian Quotations, it could not, for obvious reasons, be of any use. In the compilation now submitted to the public, each extract will be found classed under its appropriate head ; and where the import could be expressed in a single word, it is so expressed ; but where such brevity was found impracticable, the drift or spirit of the ex- tract is expressed in the fewest words possible. In certain cases it has been found impracticable to express the import of an extract literally, either by a 'single word, or by a short sentence. In such cases the compiler has endeavoured to catch the spirit, and to prefix such a term as would best convey it to the reader's comprehension. ^^riefurr. If he lias not in all such cases been successful, the candid will not hastily condemn, but refer for a better term to the context. What- ever the compiler's demerits may be, the charge of altering the language of Shakespeare cannot be sustained, for the text is in no instance meddled with, except with the view to reconcile slight va- riations which occur in the most authentic editions. The whole collection has been finally revised, and collated with the edition of Heminge and Condell, folio, Lond. 1632. As a table-book, it is presumed this work will be found no less pleasing, than as a book of reference it will be useful. Expres- sions, long and short, grave and gay, when read consecutively, will ever produce a pleasing effect ; and the devoted admirer of Shake- speare will not, it is hoped, be displeased at occasionally meeting beauties which had long been familiar to him, suddenly presenting themselves from behind coverts where he had not expected to see them. The Dictionary or Shakespeakian Quotations, being the re- sult of some thought, as well as labour, is respectfully offered as a book of utility to foreigners, young persons, and others, engaged in enquiries into the structure of our language ; the synonym and the extract being mutually illustrative, according to Locke's idea of a definition. vm On this head it ■would be unpardonable to omit noticing -what Sclilegel has said of our poet, in his German "Lectures on tho Drama," which, translated into English, is as follows : — Never, perhaps, was there so comprehensive a talent for characterization as Shakespeare's. It not only grasps the diversities of rank, sex, and age, down to the dawnings of infancy ; not only do the king and the beggar, the hero and the pickpocket, the wise and the idiot, speak and act with equal truth — ^not only does he transport himself to distant ages and to foreign nations, and pourtray in the most accurate manner, with only a few apparent violations of costume, the spirit of the ancient Eomans — of the French in their wars with the English — of the English themselves during a great part of their history — of the Southern Eiu'opeans (in the serious parts of many of his comedies,) the cultivated society of that time, and the former rude and barbarous state of the north ; his human characters have not only such depth and precision that they cannot be arranged under classes, and are inexhaustible, even in conception ; no, this Prometheus not merely forms men, but opens the gates of the magi- cal world of spirits ; calls up the midnight ghost ; exhibits before us his witches amidst their unhallowed mysteries ; peoples the air with sportive fairies and sylphs ; and these beings, existing only in ima- gination, possess such truth and consistency, that even when they are deformed monsters, like Caliban, he extorts the assenting convic- tion that, if there should be such beings, they would so conduct themselves. In a word, as he carries with him the most fruitful and daring fancy into the kingdom of nature, on the other hand he carries nature into the regions of fancy, lying beyond the confines of reality. "We are lost in astonishment at seeing the extraordinary, the wonderful, and the unheard, in such intimate nearness. Again: if Shakespeare deserves our admiration for his charac- ters, he is equally deserving of it for the exhibition of passion — taking this word in its widest signification, as including every men- tal condition, every tone of indifference, or familiar mirth, to the wildest rage and despair. He gives us the history of minds ; he lays open to us, in a single word, a whole series of preceding con- ditions. His passions do not at first stand displayed to us in all their height, as is the case with so many tragic poets, who, in the langiiage of Lessing, are thorough masters of the legal style of love. He paints, in a most inimitable manner, the gradual progress from the first origin. " He gives," as Lessing says, '• a living picture of all the most minute and secret artifices by wMcli a feeling steals into onr souls ; of all the imperceptible advantages which it there gains ; of all the stratagems by "which every other passion is made subservient to it, till it becomes the sole tyrant of our desires and aversions. Of all poets, perhaps, he alone has pourtrayed the men- tal diseases — ^melancholy, delirium, lunacy, — with such inexpress- ible, and in every respect, definite truth, that the physician may enrich his observations from them in the same manner as from real cases. And yet Johnson has objected to Shakespeare, that his pathos is not always natural and free from affectation. There are, it is true, passages, though, comparatively speaking, very few, where his poetry exceeds the bounds of true dialogue ; where a too soaring imagina- tion, a too luxuriant wit, rendered the complete dramatic forgetful- ness of himself impossible. Hence an idea has been formed of sim- ple and natural pathos, which consists in exclamations destitute of imagery, and nowise elevated above every-day life. But energe- tical passions electrify the whole of the mental powers, and conse- quently they will, in highly-favoured natures, express themselves in an ingenious and figurative manner. Besides, to use the obser- vation of Mrs. Montagu — " Heaven-born genius acts from something superior to rules, and antecedent to rules, and has a right of appeal to Nature herself." In accordance with this sentiment, it is re- marked by the German critic, that the rights of the poetical form have not been duly weighed. Shakespeare, who was always sure of his object, to move in a sufficiently powerful manner when he wished to do so, has occasionally, by indulging in a freer play, pur- posely moderated the impressions when too painful, and immediately introduced a musical alleviation of our sympathy. He had not those rude ideas of his wit which many moderns seem to have, as if the poet, like the clown in the proverb, must strike twice in the same place. xu THE LIFE OF IBillium |lialve0|ieiir^. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, the most illustrious name in the history of English dramatic poetry, was born at Stratford-upon- Ayon, on the 23d of April, 1564. His father, who sprang from a good family, was a considerable dealer in wool, and had been an officer and bailiff of Stratford, where he for some time acted as justice of the peace. His mother was of the ancient family of Arden, in the same county, one of undoubted gentility. William, who was the eldest of ten children, received the common education of a country free-school, where, it is probable, he acquired what little Latin he was master of. At an early age, he was taken by his father to assist in his own business, and thus deprived of attaining any proficiency in classical literature ; but whether a better ac- quaintance with ancient authors might not ha^e restrained some of that fire, impetuosity, and even beautiful extravagance, which we admire in Shakespeare, may well admit of a dispute. Be this as it may, he seems to have adopted the mode of life which his father proposed to him ; and we find that in his eighteenth year he married Ann Hathaway, the daughter of a substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood, who was eight years older than himself. Of his domestic establishment, or professional occupation, at this time nothing determinate is recorded ; but it appears that he was wild and irregular, from the fact of his connexion with a party who made a practice of stealing the deer of Sir Thomas Lucy, of Char- lecote, near Stratford. This imprudence brought upon him a 1 1 prosecution, wliicli lie rendered more severe by a lampoon upon that gentleman, in the form cf a ballad whicli lie bad affixed to bis park gates. He also indi^lges in a vein of splenetic drollery upon tbe same magistrate, in tbe cbaracter of Justice Shallow, in tbe opening scene of " Tbe Merry "Wives of Windsor ;" wbicb continued hostility, as be "was indisputably a kind-bearted man, we may presume was occasioned by an excess of rigour and pertinacity on tbe part of Sir Tbomas. Tbe consequence of tbis youthful imprudence drove him to London for shelter; and it is some proof that be bad already imbibed a taste for tbe drama, that his first application was to tbe players, among whom, in one Tbomas Green, a popular comedian of the day, be met a townsmaji and acquaintance. Tbis removal has been thought to have taken place in 1586, when be was in his twenty-second year. If tradition may be depended upon, he was necessitated, in the first instance to become the prompter's call-boy or attendant, while another less probable story describes him as holding the horses of those who attended tbe play without servants, a prevalent custom at that period. As an actor, tbe top of bis performance is said to have been tbe Ghost in bis own Hamlet. " I should have been much more pleased," says Mr. Eowe in bis remarks on the genius and writings of Shakespeare, "to have learned, from certain authority, which was the first play be wrote"; it would be without doubt a pleasure to any man, curious in things of this kind, to see and know what was the first essay of a fancy like Shakespeare's. Perhaps we are not to look for bis beginnings, like those of other authors, among their least perfect writings ; art bad so little, and nature so large a share in what he did, that, for aught I know, tbe performances of bis youth, as they were the most vigorous, and bad the most fire and strength of imagination in them, were the best. I would not be thought by this to mean, that bis fancy was so loose and extra- vagant, as to be independent of the rule and government of judg- ment ; but that what be thought was commonly so great, so justly and rightly conceived in itself, that it wanted little or no correction, and was immediately approved by an impartial judgment at the first sight. But, though the order of time in whicb the several pieces were written, be generally uncertain, yet there are passages in some few of them which seem to fix their dates. So the Chorus at the end of tbe fourth act of Henry the Fifth, by a compliment very handsomely turned to tlie Earl of Essex, shows the plaj- to have heen written when that lord was general for the queen in Ireland ; and his eulogy upon Queen Elizabeth, and her successor King James, in the latter end of his Henry the Eighth, is a proof of that play's being written after the accession of the latter of these two princes to the crown of England. Whatever the particular times of his writings were, the people of his age, who began to grow wonderfully fond of diversions of this kind, could not but be highly pleased to see a genius arise amongst them of so pleasurable, so rich a vein, and so plentifully capable of furnishing their favourite entertainments. What grace soever the Queen conferred upon him, it was not to her only he owed the fortune which the reputation of his wit made. 3 3i:ifB nf IBiUinm IIjEkMiiieiirL He had the honour to meet with many great and uncommon marks of favour and friendship from the Earl of Southampton, famous in the histories of that time for his friendship to the unfortunate Earl of Essex. It was to that noble lord that he dedicated his poem of Venus and Adonis. There is one instance so singular in the magnificence of this patron of Shakespeare's, that if I had not been assured that the story was handed down by Sir William D'Avenant, who was probably very well acquainted with his affairs, I should not have ventured to have asserted it ; that my lord Southampton at one time gave him a thousand pounds, to enable him to go through with a purchase which he heard he had a mind to. A bounty very great, and very rare at any time, and almost equal to that profuse generosity the present age has shown to French dancers and Italian singers. "What particular habitude or friendships he contracted with private men, I have not been able to learn, more than that every one, who had a true taste of merit, and could distinguish men, had generally a just value and esteem for him. His exceeding candour and good nature must certainly have inclined all the gentler part of the world to love him, as the power of his wit obliged the men of the most delicate knowledge and polite learning to admire him. *'His acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and good nature : IVIr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and the persons into whose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just about returning it to him with an ill- natured answer, that it would be of no use to their company ; when Shakespeare luckily cast his eye on it, and found something so well in it, as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to re- commend Mr, Jonson and his writings to the public. Jonson was cer- tainly a very good scholar, and in that had the advantage of Shake- speare ; though at the same time I believe it must be allowed, that what nature gave the latter, was more than a balance for what books had given the former ; and the judgment of a great man upon this occasion was, I think, very just and proper. In a conversation between Sir John Suckling, Sir William d'Avenant, Endymion Porter, Mr. Hales, of Eton, and Ben Jonson ; Sir John Suckling, who was a professed admirer of Shakespeare, had undertaken his defence against Ben Jonson with some warmth ; Mr. Hales, who 4 had sat still for some time, told them, That if 3Ir. Shalcespeare had not read the ancients, he had likewise not stolen anything from them • and that, if he tvould produce any one topic finely treated by any one of them, he would undertake to shoiv something upon the same subject at least as well written by Shakespeare.'" The latter part of his life was spent, as all men of good sense ■will wish theirs may he, in ease, retirement, and the conversation of his friends. His pleasurable wit and good nature engaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Amongst them, it is a story, still remembered in that country, that he had a particular intimacy with Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and his usury : it happened, that in a pleasant conversation amongst their common friends, Mr. 5 1* %ih nf J0iUiiim |liiiIt^H]mrp. He died on his birth-day, April 23, 1616, having exactly com- pleted his fifty-second year. He was interred on the north side of the chancel of the great church of Stratford, where a monnment is placed on the "wall, in which he is represented tinder an arch in a sitting posture, a cushion spread before him, with a pen in his right hand, and his left resting on a scroll of paper. The following Latin distich is engraved under the cushion : — " Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, Terra tegit, populus mceret, Olympus habet." To this Latin inscription may be added the lines to be found underneath it : — "Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast? Kead, if thovi canst, what envious death hath placed Within this monument; Shakespeare, with whom Quick nature died ; whose name doth deck the tomb Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ Leaves living art but page unto his wit." This monument was erected within seven years of his death ; but on his grave-stone beneath are written the following lines, which seem to have been engraven in an uncouth mixture of large and small letters, at the time of his interment : — " Good Friend for lesus SAKE forbeare To diGG T-E Dust EncloAsed HERe Blest be T-E Man y-t spares T-Es Stones And cm-st be He y-t moves my Bones." It ia tLQcertain whether this request and imprecation were written "by Shakespeare, or by one of his friends. They probably allude to the custom of removing skeletons after a certain time, and deposit- ing them in charnel houses ; and similar execrations are found in many Latin epitaphs. Shakespeare's remains, however, have been ever carefully protected from injuiy. His family consisted of two daughters, and a son named Hamnet, who died in his twelfth year. Susannah, the eldest daughter, and her father's favourite, was married June 5, 1607, to Dr. John Hall, a "physician, who died November, 1635, aged 60. Mrs. Hall died July 11, 1649, aged 66. They left only one child, Elizabeth, born 1607-8, and married April 22, 1626, to Tliomas Nashe, Esq., -who died in 1647, and afterwards to Sir Jolin Barnard, of Abington, in Northamptonshire ; Tbut died without issue by either husband. Judith, Shakespeare's youngest daughter, was married, February 10, 1615-16, to a Mr. Thomas Quiney, and died, February, 1661-62, in her 77th year. By Mr. Quiney she had three sons, Shakespeare, Richard and Thomas, who all died unmarried, and here the descendants of our poet became extinct. In the year 1741, a monument was erected to the memory of the ♦'immortal bard" in Westminster Abbey, by the direction of the Earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, Mr. Pope, and Mr. Martyn. It was the work of Schoemaker, (who received £300 for it,) after a design of Kent, and was opened in January of that year, one hundred and twenty-five years after the death of him whom it commemorates, and whose genius appears to have been forgotten during almost the whole of that long period. The pei'formers of each of the London theatres gave a benefit to defray the expenses, and the Dean and Chapter of "Westminster took nothing for the ground. The money received by the performance at Drury-lane theatre amounted to above £200, but the receipts at Covent-garden did not exceed £100. From these imperfect notices, which are all we have been able to collect from the labours of his biographers and commentators, the reader will perceive that less is known of Shakespeare than of almost any writer who has been considered as an object of laudable curiosity. Nothing could be more highly gratifying than an ac- eount of the early studies of this wonderful man, the progress of Ms pen, his moral and social qualities, his friendships, his failings, and whatever else constitutes personal history. But on all these topics his contemporaries and his immediate successors have been equally silent, and if aught can be hereafter discovered, it must be by exploring sources which have hitherto escaped the anxious re- searches of those who have devoted their whole lives, and their most vigorous talents, to revive his memory, and illustrate his writings. Dr. Johnson, in his elaborate and just review of Shakespeare, observes, *' He has scenes of undoubted and perpetual excellence, but perhaps not one play, which, if it were now exhibited as the work of a contemporary writer, would be heard to the conclusion. I am indeed, (says he,) far from thinking that his works were wrought to his own ideas of perfection ; when they were such as 7 would satisfy the audience, tliey satisfied the writer. It is sel- dom that authors, though more studious of fame than Shake- speare, rise much above the standard of their own age ; to add a little to what is "best will always he sufficient for present praise, and those who find themselves exalted into fame, are willing to credit their encomiasts, and to spare the labour of contending with. themselves." The dramatic reputation of Shakespeare, although great in his own days, became partially obsolete during the period when French taste prevailed, and French models were studied, under the second Charles ; and rising again as it did on its own intrinsic pretension, until his productions established a national taste, the fact is still more honorable to his genius. That much of the admiration enter- tained for him is national and conventional, may be freely allowed ; but giving all due weight to the cold hints of this nature, which pervade criticism of a certain tone, a fair appeal may be made on the ground of positive qualification, and a knowledge of the human heart, which, in its diversity at least, has never been surpassed. To this faculty must be added, that of an imagination powerful, poetical, and so felicitously creative, that presuming the existence of the vivid offspring of his fancy, the adopted feelings and manners seem to belong to them alone. Voltaire observes that Shakespeare has been the favourite of the English nation for more than a century ; and that that which has engrossed national admiration for a hundred years, will by pre- scription insure it for ever. But though there may be some truth in this remark, the obvious and undeniable fact is, that great native strength of genius can alone establish the prepossession. DICTIONARY OP ljiike0|iMriiiii (fcttatEtium < o » o ► LI- ABILITY, Innate. There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends : For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks sticcessors their way; nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied To eminent assistants; but spider-like. Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note; The force of his own merit makes his way; A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. H. VIII. i. 1. ABSENCE. I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd; But I shall, in a more continuate time, Strike off this score of absence. 0. iii. 4. ■ Lovers'. What ! keep a week away ? seven days and nights ? Eight score eight hours, — and lovers' absent hours, — More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 0 weary reckoning ! 0, iii- 4. 0 thou that dost inhabit in my breast, Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; Lest growing ruinous the building fall, And leave no memory of what it was. T. G. v. 4. 9 ABU llmltBBpurinii BirtiBtixarti. ado ABUSE, AND Bad English (See also Vituperation). Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? M. TF. v. 5. Here mil be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English. M. W. i. 4. Let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. M, W. iii. 4. ACCUSATION. To vouch this is no proof, Without more certain and more overt test, Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 0. i. 3. ACHIEVEMENT. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry, M.N. DA. 1. Let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds ; or I swear I will have it in a particular ballad, with mine own picture on the top of it. H. IV. pt. ii. iv.. 1 ACQUITTAL. Now doth thy honour stand. In him that was of late an heretic, As firm as faith. M. W. iv. 4. ACTION, Dramatic. Let your own discretion be your tutor : suit the action to the word, and the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as ^twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure: * "^ "^ 0, there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abomi- nably. H. iii. 2. ADOPTION. ^Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds. A. W. i. 3. ADORATION, a Lover's. What you do, 10 ADO |ljiilt^0]MriiiE SirtinHartf. adv ADOB.ATIO'^, —conti7iued. Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, rd have you do it ever : when you sing, rd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; aud, for the order of your affairs, To sing them too : AVhen you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own No other function : Each your doing. So singular in each particular. Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. W. T. iv. 4. ADVERSITY (See also Misfortune). A man I am, cross'd with adversity. T. G. iv. 1. But myself. Who had the world as my confectionary ; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment ; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare, For every storm that blows ; I, to bear this. That never knew but better, is some burden. T. A. iv. 3. Such a house broke ! So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him ! . T. A. iv. 2. Folly of Repining at. AVhat think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moist trees, That have out-lived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip when thou point'st out ? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? Call the creatures ; Whose naked natures live in all the spight Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks. To the conflicting elements exposed. Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee. T. A. iv. 3. ITS Uses. Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venemous. Wears yet a precious jewel in its head. A. Y. ii. 1. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains, Upon example ; so the spirit is eas'd ; 11 ADv llmkMjinriiiu SirtinHnrii^ adv ADYERSITY,— continued And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move With casted slough, and fresh legerit3\ H. V. iii. 1. In poison there is physic ; and these news Having been well, that would have made me sick ; Being sick, have in some measure made me well. And as the wretch whose fever-weakenM joints, Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire. Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves. S. IV. ft. ii. i. 1. ADVICE (See also Caution). Fasten your ear to my advisings. M. M. iii. 1. Obey thy parents ; keep thy word justly ; swear not ; commit not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. K. L. iii. 4. Take heed, be wary how you place your words. H. VL PT. I. iii. 2. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after, V/hen a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. K. L. ii. 4. Pray be counsel'd: I have a heart as little apt as yours. But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger To better Vantage. C. iii. 2. Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use ; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. A. W. i. 1. Keep thy pen from lenders^ books, and defy the foul fiend. K. L. iii. 4. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women. K. L. iii. 4. • TO A Young Woman. Fear it, my dear sister ; And keep you in the rear of your afiection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon ; 12 ADv lliiikiespiiriEii SirtinEnrii. adu ADVICE, — continued. 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. Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear ; Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. n, i. 3, • TO A Young Man. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel : But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each unhatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in. Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give ev'ry man thine 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: — 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. Farewell : — my blessing season this in thee ! H. i. 3. TO A Statesman. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, 0 Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. H. VIII. iii. 2. ADULATION (See also Flattery). You shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I lov'd my little should be dieted In praises sauc'd with lies. C. i. 13 2 AFF Ijiaknpiiriiiii Birtinimri]:* age AFFECTED Speakers. These new tuners of accents. R. J. ii. 4. AFFECTION (See Parental Affection). AFFLICTION. Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. R. J. iii. 3 AGE. The silver livery of advised age. E. Yl. ft. ii. v. 2. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old, with all the characters of age ? Have you not a moist eye ? a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ? a white beard ? a decreasing leg ? an increasing belly ? Is not your voice broken ? your wind short ? your chin dou- ble ? your wit single ? and every part about you blasted with antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself young ? 0 fye, Sir John. H. IV. pt. ii. i. 2. Youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, Importing health and graveness. H. iv. 7. Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; Yet hath my night of life some memory. My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear. C. E. y. 1. I would there were no age between ten and three-and- twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the rest ; for there is nothing between but wenching, wronging the ancientry, stealing, and fighting. W. T. iii. 3. His silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion. And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : It shall be said his judgment rul'd our hands ; Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear. But all be buried in his gravity. /. (7. ii. 1. As you are old and reverend you should be wise. K. L. i. 4. -^ When age is in the wit is out. M. A. iii. 5, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, And twit with cowardice a man half dead ? H. VI. PT. I. iii. 2. 14 AGE ijjitkHpiiriitu DittinEEnf. ama AGE AND Frailty. The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity's revolt to wantonness. L. L. v. 2. Thou should'st not have been old before thou had'st been wise. K. L. i. 5. AND Grief. I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. K. L. v. 3. 0 ! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last ; And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, Have written strange defeatures in my face. C. E. v. 1, • AND Loquacity. These tedious old fools ! H. ii. 2. AIM. Here is the heart of my purpose. M. W. ii. 2. AIR. A bond of air, strong as the axle-tree On which heaven rides. T. (7. i. 3. ALARM. What stir is this ? what tumult's in the heavens ? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ? E. VI. FT. I. i. 4 What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? M. ii. 3, Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle From its propriety. 0. ii. 3. ALLEGIANCE. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties : and our duties Are to your throne and state, children and servants ; Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. jl?'. i. 4. AMAZEMENT. But the changes I perceived in the king and Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes ; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very ges- ture ; they looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say if the importance were joy or sorrow : but in the extremity of one it must be. W. T. v. 2. 15 AMB Ijnikopurinu Bittintinrii, amb AMBITION. The very substance of the amhitious is merely the shadow of a dream. H. ii. 2. I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. H. ii. 2. 'Tis a common proof That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber upward turns his face ; But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. /. C. ii. 4. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. /. C. i. 2, A¥hat see'st thou there ? King Henry's diadem, Enchas'd with all the honours of the world ? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face. Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : — • What, is't too short ? I'll lengthen it with mine : And, having both together heav'd it up. We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ; And never more abase our sight so low. As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground, H. VI. PT. II. i. 2. That is a step, On which I must fall down, or else overleap, For in my way it lies. M. i. 4. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, And falls on t'other side. M. i. 7. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. H. VIII. i. 1. Follow I must, I cannot go before, While Glo'ster bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks, And smooth my way upon their headless necks. H. YI. FT. II. i. 2. Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. H. IV. FT. II. V. 4. 16 AMB IjjEkBHpurinti SirtiniiEttt. ang A'MBITION, —contmued. The noble Brutus Hath told you Csesar was ambitious : If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grievously hath Caesar answered it. /. C. iii. 2. Defeated. People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. /. C iii. 1. ALLOY, Uniyersal, in this Probationary Life. Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring, Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers ; The adder hisseth where the sweet birds sing ; What virtue breeds, iniquity devours. Poems. AMEN. Let me say. Amen, betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer. M. V. iii. 1. AMENDMENT (See also Reform). God mend all. H. VIII. i. 3. 