Imatges de pàgina
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I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read)
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his facred blood !

Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2.
Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through:
See, what a rent the envious Casca made :
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed 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 stir men's blood : I only speak right on; I tell you what, which you yourselves do know; Shew you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb

mouths! And bid them speak for me.

Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2. Why should a man, whose 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 devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

Merchant of Venice, A. I, S. 2. Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you

Merchant of Venice, A. 3, S. 2,

Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone.

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

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my veins.

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A man whose blood
Is very snow-broth.

Meas. for Meas. A, 1, S. 5.
Why does my blood thus mufter to my heart,
Making both it unable for itself,
And dispoffeffing all iny

other

parts
Of necessary fitness ? Meas. for Meaf. A. 2, S. 4:

Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in every thought;
Whose 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,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom'.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. I.
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 wafting lamps some fading glimmer left.

Comedy of Errors, A. 5, S. 1.
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death :
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfal of our house!

Henry VI. P. 3, A. 5, S. 6.
The wrinkles on my brows, now fillid with blood,
Were liken'd oft to kingly fepulchres ;

*Such a jaded groom.] This epithet appears to me so strange, that I sufpect some corruption. The quarto reads either lady groom, or jady groom, it is difficult to say which.

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

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 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'. Coriolanus, A. 2, S. 2.

The breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords contending. Coriolanus, A. 1, S. 3.
He was not taken well; he had not din'd:
The veins unfillid, 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 souls
Than in our priest-like fasts. Coriolanus, A. 5, S. 1.

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

All's well that ends well, A. I, S. 1.
See, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls further out than when he liy'd,
Staring full ghaftly like a strangled man:
His hair up-rear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug-

gling, His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd

,

1

every motion

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

JOHNSON. There is no necessity for this ludicrous explanation. The sense is easy. Wherever he shewed himself the cries of dying inen were heard,

A.B.

And

And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu’d.

Henry VI. P.2, A. 3, S. 2.
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good

Timon of Athens, A. 4, S.12.
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster !
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood !
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd son.

Richard III. A. 1, S. 2.
Cursed 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, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!

Richard III. A. I, 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 einpty 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, I, S. 3.

She bids you
Upon the wanton rulhes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the god of neep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness.
Henry IV. P. 1, A. 3, S. 1.

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

Henry IV. P. I, A. 4, S. 3:
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, 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. Lear, A. 1, S. 1.

For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so 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, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a ininute.

Hamlet, A. I, S. 3.

What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, To wash it white as snow? Hamlet, A. 3, S. 3.

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