And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the fhot and danger of defire. Hamlet, A. 1, S. 3. Rightly, to be great Is not to ftir without great argument; But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, When honour's at the stake. Hamlet, A. 4, S. 4. A fcar nobly got, or a noble fcar, is a good livery of honour. All's well that ends well, A. 4, S. 5: Perfeverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rufty mail In monumental mockery. Troilus and Creffida, A. 3, S. 3. What is honour? A word. What is that word, That one by one purfue; if you give way, Troilus and Creffida, A. 3, S. 3. Speak to me, fon: Thou haft affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, And And yet to charge thy fulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak, Coriolanus, A. 5, S. 3. Shew not their mealy wings, but to the fummer Hath any honour; but's honour'd for thofe honours Prizes of accident as oft as merit. Troilus and Creffida, A. 3, S. I have heard you fay, Honour and policy, like unfever'd friends, S. 3° l' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace, what each of them by the other lofe, That they combine not there? Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 2. Whiles the honourable captain there Drops bloody fweat from his war-wearied limbs, Henry VI. P. 1, A. 4, S. 4. Troilus and Creffida, A. 5, S. 3. Have patience, fir; O, let it not be so; Comedy of Errors, A. 3, S. 1. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned Honour by the locks. Henry IV. P. 1, A. 1, S. 3. Your fire-new ftamp of honour is fcarce current : They that ftand high, have many blasts to shake them. Honour but of danger wins a fcar; As oft it lofes all. All's well that ends well, A. 3, He took upon him, S. 2. Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Henry VI. P. 2, A. 1, S. 2. All's well that ends well, A. 1, S. 2. Which challenges itself as honour's born, I All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 3. the file.] That is, the lift. JOHNSON. Rather the company. We now fay, a file of foldiers. By "makes up the file," the poet means, not only that Wolfey gave in the names of the gentry who were to attend on the King, but that he actually appointed them to fuch attendance. A. B. I'll I'll to the king, And from a mouth of honour' quite cry down Henry VIII. A. 1, S. 1. It is in us to plant thine honour, where We please to have it grow: check thy contempt: All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 3. Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, Julius Cæfar, A. 1, S. 2. (Thofe 'bated, that inherit but the fall All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 1. When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers. All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 3. In thefe to nature fhe's immediate heir; All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 3. Hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant caufe wherein the honour I - from a mouth of honour.] I will crush this bafe-born fellow by the due influence of my rank, or fay that all diftinction of perfons is at an end. JOHNSON. By "a mouth of honour," I would rather understand, a plain and bonourable recital of facts-and not that Buckingham was boafting of his rank. A. B. Of my dear father's gift ftands chief in power, All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. I More of his foldierfhip I know not; except, in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place there call'd Mile-end, to inftruct for the doubling of files. All's well that ends well, A. 4, S. 3. Manhood and honour Should have hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reafon : reason and respect Make livers pale, and luftyhood, deject. Troilus and Creffida, A. 2, S. 2. His honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when All's well that ends well, A.1, 'S. 2. Well, 'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour fet to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no fkill in furgery then? No. Henry IV. P. 1. A. 5, S. 1. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'ft not what thou fpeak'ft; Or elfe thou art fuborn'd against his honour Though I could 'fcape fhot-free at London, I fear the fhot here; here's no fcoring, but upon the pate. -Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt ;-there's honour for you: here's no vanity!-I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: Heaven keep lead out of me! Henry IV. P. 1, A. 5, S. 3. If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, fo: if he do not,-if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not |