Imatges de pàgina
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I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:

Let but the commons hear this teftament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read)
And they would go and kifs dead Cæfar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his facred blood!

Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2.
Look! in this place, ran Caffius' dagger through:
See, what a rent the envious Cafca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus ftabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his curfed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæfar follow'd it.

Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2.

I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To ftir men's blood: I only speak right on;

I tell you what, which you yourselves do know ;
Shew you fweet Cæfar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb

mouths!

And bid them speak for me.

Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2.
Why should a man, whofe blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandfire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By beeing peevish? Merchant of Venice, A. 1, S. 1.
The brain may devife laws for the blood; but a
hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

Merchant of Venice, A. 1, S. 2.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words,

Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

Merchant of Venice, A. 3, S. 2.
-Lord Angelo is precife;

Stands at a guard with envy; fcarce confeffes
That his blood flows, or that his appetite

Is more to bread than stone.

Measure for Meafure, A. 1, S. 4.

A man

Is very

A man whofe blood

fnow-broth. Meaf. for Meaf. A. 1, S. 5.

Why does my blood thus mufter to my heart,
Making both it unable for itself,

And difpoffeffing all iny other parts

Of neceffary fitness? Meaf. for Meaf. A. 2, S. 4. Joan of Arc hath been

A virgin from her tender infancy,

Chafte and immaculate in every thought;
Whofe maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

Henry VI. P. 1, A. 5, S. 5.

King Henry's blood,

The honourable blood of Lancaster,

Muft not be shed by fuch a jaded groom

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 1.

Though now this grained face of mine be hid
In fap-confuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
Yet hath my night of life fome memory,
My wafting lamps fome fading glimmer left.

Comedy of Errors, A. 5, S. 1.

What, will the afpiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my fword weeps for the poor king's death:
O, may fuch purple tears be always fhed

From thofe that with the downfal of our house!

Henry VI. P. 3, A. 5, S. 6.

The wrinkles on my brows, now fill'd with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly fepulchres;

Such a jaded groom.] This epithet appears to me fo ftrange, that I fufpect fome corruption. The quarto reads either lady groom, or jady groom, it is difficult to fay which. MALONE.

"Jady groom" is the right reading (jadis, Fr.) "heretofore." The fenfe of the paffage is-Thou who wert heretofore a groom, and held my stirrup.

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A. B.

For

For who liv'd king but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Henry VI. P. 3, A. 5, S. 2.
His fword (death's stamp)

Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whofe every motion.
Was tim'd with dying cries'. Coriolanus, A. 2, S. 2.
The breasts of Hecuba,

When she did fuckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it fpit forth blood
At Grecian fwords contending. Coriolanus, A. 1, S. 3.
He was not taken well; he had not din'd:
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt

To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd
These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding, we have fuppler fouls
Than in our priest-like fafts. Coriolanus, A. 5, S. 1.
Succeed thy father

In manners, as in fhape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right!

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

See, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghaftly like a ftrangled man :

His hair up-rear'd, his noftrils ftretch'd with struggling,

His hands abroad display'd, as one that grafp'd

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every motion

Was tim'd with dying cries.] The cries of the flaughtered regularly followed his motions, as mufic and a dancer accompany each other. JOHNSON.

There is no neceffity for this ludicrous explanation. The fenfe is easy. Wherever he fhewed himself the cries of dying men were heard.

A. B.

And

And tugg'd for life, and was by ftrength fubdu'd. Henry VI. P. 2, A. 3, S. 2.

Poor honeft lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unufual blood,
When man's worft fin is, he does too much good
Timon of Athens, A. 4, S.12.

Pale afhes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghoft,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon.

Richard III. A. 1, S. 2.

Curfed the blood, that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, fpiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!

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Richard III. A. 1, S. 2.

Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! but I am in
So far in blood, that fin will pluck on fin;-
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Richard III. A. 4, S. 2.

I'll empty all these veins,

And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer

As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 1, S. 3.
She bids you

Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
And reft your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will fing the fong that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the god of fleep,
Charming your blood with pleafing heavinefs.
Henry IV. P. 1, A. 3,

S. 1.

He

He presently, -as greatnefs knows itself-
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
And now, forfooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts, and fome ftrait decrees,
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 4, S. 3.

By all the operations of the orbs,

From whom we do exift, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever.

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Lear, A. 1, S. 1.

For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find fo much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy.

Twelfth Night, A. 3, S. 2. Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear, Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love: for, at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, 'tis humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this? Hamlet, A. 3, S. 4. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, fweet, not lasting, The perfume and fuppliance of a minute.

Hamlet, A. 1, S. 3.

What if this curfed hand

Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens,
To wash it white as fnow?

D

Hamlet, A. 3, S. 3.

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