England never did (nor never shall)

Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.

King John, A. 5, S. 7.

You degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of
your dear mother England, blush for shame:
For your own ladies, and pale-vifag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums.

King John, A. 5, S. 2.

By eaft and weft let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
'Till their foul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.

King John, A. 2, S. 2..
Remember whom you are to cope withal;-:
A fort of vagabonds, rafcals, and run-aways,
A fcum of Brittains, and bafe lackey pealants,
Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth,
To defperate ventures and affur'd deftruction.
Richard III. A. 5, S. 3.

Hath Britain all the fun that fhines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume
Our Britain feems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a fwan's neft. Cymbeline, A. 3, S. 4,
England! if my love thou hold'ft at aught,
(As my great power thereof may give thee fenfe;
Since yet the cicatrice looks raw and red

After the Danish fword, and thy free awe

Pays homage to us) thou may'ft not coldly fet
Our fovereign process.

fet.

I

Hamlet, A. 4, S. 3:

-Were

Our fovereign process.] So Hanmer. The others have only

I

Set by

Set

JOHNSON.

Our fovereign procefs.] I adhere to the reading of the quarto and folio. To fet, is an expreffion taken from the gaming STEEVENS.

table.

We

Were I in England, now,

There would this monster make a man;

Any ftrange beast there makes a man.

Tempest, A. 2, S. 2,

England hath long been mad, and fcarr'd herself;
The brother blindly fhed the brother's blood;
The father rafhly flaughter'd his own fon,
The fon compell'd, been butcher to the fire:
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce thefe bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in ftreams of blood!
Richard III. A. 5, S. 4.

ERROR.

There is no power in Venice,

Can alter a decree established:

'Twill be recorded for a precedent;

And many an error, by the fame example,

Will rush into the state.

Indian-like,

Religion in mine error, I adore

The fun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more.

All's well that ends well, A. 1, S. 3.

O hateful error, melancholy's child !

Why doft thou fhew to the apt thoughts of men,
The things that thou are not? O terror, foon conceiv'd,
Thou never com'ft unto a happy birth,

But kill'ft the mother that engender'd thee.

Julius Cafar, A. 5, S. 3.

Truft not my age,

My reverence, calling, or divinity,

If this fweet lady lie not guiltless here,
Under fome biting error.

Much ado about nothing, A. 4, S. 1.

We should read jet, (jetter, French) i e. reject, throw out my

procefs or fuit.

A. B. ESTATE.

ESTAT E.

Much I have disabled mine estate,

By fomething fhewing a more fwelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance.
Merchant of Venice, A. 1, S. 1.

EXPECTATION.

Now fits expectation in the air;

And hides a fword, from hilts unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.

Henry V. Chorus, A. 2.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion he hath, indeed, better'd expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Much ado about nothing, A. 1, S. 1. O, you hard hearts, you cruel men, of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have fat The live long day, with patient expectation To fee great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. Julius Cæfar, A. 1, S. 1.

EXPEDITIO N.

I have learn'd, that fearful commenting,

Is leaden fervitor to dull delay ;.

Delay leads impotent and fnail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing,

Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

E Y E,

Richard III. A. 4, S. 3.

EYES.

Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

Why

Why are thine eyes fix'd to the fullen earth,
Gazing on that which feems to dim thy fight?
What feeft thou there? king Henry's diadem,
Inchas'd with all the honours of the world?

་

Henry VI. P. 2, A. 1, S. 2.

What, is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,

Because his painted skin contents the eye?
Oh, no.

Taming of the Shrew, A. 2, S. 3.
Fye! fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow;
And dart not fcornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.

Taming of the Shrew, A. 5, S. 2.

There is a credence in my heart,

An esperance fo obftinately strong,

That doth invert the atteft of eyes and ears;
As if those organs had deceptious functions,
Created only to calumniate.

Troilus and Creffida, A. 5, S. 2. His humour is lofty, his difcourfe peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrafonical. Love's Labour Loft, A. 5. S. 1. From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academies, That fhew, contain, and nourish all the world.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 4, S. 3.

Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues.-
Fye, painted rhetorick! O, the needs it not:
A wither'd hermit, five-fcore winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.

S.3.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 4, S. 3. All tongues fpeak of him, and the bleared fights Are fpectacled to fee him: your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry,

While

While the chats him: the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye

him.

Coriolanus A. 2, S. r.

*Tis pretty fure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft things,
Who fhut their coward gates on atomies,—

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers.

As you like it, A. 3, S. 5,

Thefe eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,
To fearch the secret treasons of the world.
Henry VI. P. 3, A.

5, S. 2.

I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too;
No, 'faith, proud miftrefs, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black-filk hair,
Your Bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my fpirits to your worship.

As you like it, A. 3, S. 5.

Where the impreffion of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful perfpective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or exprefs'd it stolen ;*

1 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it ftolen.] Contempt is brought in lending Bertram her perfpective glafs, which does its office properly by warping the lines of all other faces; or by expreffing or fhewing native red and white as paint. But with what propriety of speech can this glafs be faid to fcorn, which is an affection of the mind? We should read,

"Scorch'd a fair colour, &c."

i. e. this glafs reprefented the owner as brown or tanned.

WARBURTON.

The paffage is corrupt: for, as Dr. Warburton rightly ob ferves, a glafs can hardly be made to forn. But why should it be made to fcorch? The poet certainly wrote,

Scors'd a fair colour, &c."

To fcofs or feorfe, in old language, is to change.

3

A. B. Extended