Imatges de pàgina
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Under the canopies of coftly ftate,

And lull'd with founds of sweetest inelody?

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 3, S. 1.

Fast asleep? It is no matter;

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of flumber :
Thou haft no figures, nor no fantafies,

Which bufy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'ft fo found.

Julius Cæfar, A. 2, S. 1.

Faft lock'd up in fleep, as guiltless labour

When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones.

Meafure for Measure, A. 4, S. 2.

Not poppy, nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy fyrups of the world,
Shall ever med'cine thee to that fweet fleep
Which thou ow'dft yesterday. Othello, A. 3, S. 3.

SMIL E.

Ghaftly looks

Are at my fervice, like enforced fmiles;

And both are ready in their offices,

At any time, to grace my ftratagems.

What thou wilt,

Richard III. A. 3, S. 5.

Thou rather fhalt enforce it with thy fmile,
Than hew to't with thy fword.

Timon of Athens, A. 5, S. 5.

In Richard's time,-What do you call the place?—
A plague upon't!-it is in Gloftershire ;-
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept,
His uncle York ;-where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of fmiles, this Bolingbroke.

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

SNOW.

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O thou fweet king-killer, and dear divorce
'Twixt natural fon and fire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's pureft bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the confecrated snow

That lies on Dian's lap !

Timon of Athens, A. 4, S. 3.

SOCIETY.

This is worshipful fociety,

And fits the mounting fpirit; like myself:
For he is but a baftard to the time,

That doth not fmack of observation.

King John, A. 1, S. 1.

So please you, leave me ;

Stick to your journal courfe: the breach of custom Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me Cannot amend me: fociety is no comfort

To one not fociable.

Cymbeline, A. 4, S. 2.
Elfe,

Could fuch inordinate, and low defires,
Such barren pleasures, rude fociety,

As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

Henry IV, P. 1, A. 3, S. 2.

SOL DIE R.

When a foldier was the theme, my name

Was 'not far off: then was I as a tree,

Whofe boughs did bend with fruit; but, in one

night,

A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,

Bb 4

Shook

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather. Cymbeline, A. 3, S. 3,
-Our flippery people

(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver,
Till his deserts are past) begin to throw
Pompey the great, and all his dignities
Upon his fon; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, ftands up
For the main foldier.

Antony and Cleopatra, A. 1, S. 2,

If I be not ashamed of my foldiers, I am a fouc'd gurnet: I have mifus'd the king's prefs damnably. 1 have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty foldiers, three hundred and odd pounds.

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

As the foldiers bore dead bodies by,

He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,

To bring a flovenly unhandsome corse,

Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 1, S. 3.
Debonair, unarm'd,

As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
But when they would feem foldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, ftrong joints, true fwords; and, Jove's
accord,

Nothing fo full of heart'.

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Troilus and Creffida, A. 1, S. 3.

they have galls,

Good arms, frong joints, true fwords; and Jove's accord, Nothing fo full of heart.] As this paffage is printed I cannot difcover any meaning in it. If there be no corruption, the femicolon which is placed after words, ought rather to be placed after the word accord; of which, however, the fenfe is not very clear. I fufpect that the tranfcriber's ear deceived him, and that we should read,

"And Jove's a god," &c. MALONE. "Accord" is certainly right. "Jove's accord" is, Jove gives fanction to their proceedings. Jove is their protector."

A. B.

Their

Their weapons like to lightning came and went ;
Our foldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,—

Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends.
Henry VI. P. 3, A. 2, S. I.

Then, a foldier;

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth.

Confider further,

As you like it, A. 2, S. 7.

That when he speaks not like a citizen,
You find him like a foldier: do not take
His rougher accents for malicious founds;
But, as I fay, fuch as become a foldier,
Rather than envy you.

Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 3.

In a moment, look to fee The blind and bloody foldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your fhrill-fhrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the filver beards,

And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes;

Whiles the mad mothers, with their howls confus'd,
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting flaughtermen.

Henry V. A. 3, S. 3.

You men of Harfleur,

Take pity of your town, and of your people,

Whiles yet my

yet my foldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'er-blows the filthy and contagious clouds

Of heady murder, fpoil, and villainy.

Henry V. A. 3, S. 3.

He was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honeft man, and a foldier; and now is he

turned

turned orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes.

Much ado about nothing, A. 2, S. 3.

Say to them,

Thou art their foldier, and being bred in broils,
Haft not the foft way, which, thou doft confess,
Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,

In asking their good loves. Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 2.
Behold! I have a weapon:

A better never did itself fuftain

Upon a foldier's thigh; I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good fword,"
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your ftop. Othello, A. 5, S. 2.
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal-

More like a foldier, than a man o' the church,
As ftout, and proud, as he were lord of all,-
Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself

Unlike the ruler of a common-weal.

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

SON.

Take but degree away, untune that ftring,
And, hark, what difcord follows! the bounded wa

ters.

Should lift their bofoms higher than the shores,
And make a fop of all this folid globe:

Strength should be lord of imbecility,

And the rude fon should strike his father dead:
Force should be right.

Troilus and Creffida, A. 1, S. 3.

If the deed were ill,

Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a fon fet your decrees at nought;
To pluck down juftice from your awful bench;

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