Imatges de pàgina

Dust was thrown upon his facred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he fhook off,-
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted.

Richard II. A.


S. 2. Gnarling Sorrow hath lefs power to bite The man that mocks at it, and fets it light.

Richard II. A. 1, S. 3. The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : Fell Sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.

Richard II. A. I, S. 3.

I hardly yet have learn'd To infinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : Give Sorrow leave a while to tutor me To this submiffion. Ricbard II. A. 4, S. 1. Now will canker Sorrow ear my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit.

King John, A. 3, S. 4. Oh, if thou teach me to believe this forrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make inę die; And let belief and life encounter so, As doth the fury of two desperate men, Which in the very meeting, fall, and die.

King John, A.


S. 1. If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; And Sorrow, wag '! cry; hem, when he should



* If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
And Sorrow, wag!

cry hem when he should groan.] Such is the reading of all the copies; and on this very difficult passage


Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

Much ado about nothing, A. 5; S. 1.

S O U L.
Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again. Othello, A. 3, S. 3..

I wonder in my soul,
What you could ask me, that I should deny,
Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio,
That came a wooing with you; and so many a time,
When I have spoke of you difpraisingly,
Hath ta’en your part: to have so much to do
To bring him in !

Othello, A. 3, S. 3.
- Beshrew me much Emilia,
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am)'
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
And he's indited falsely. Othello, A. 3, S. 4.


the commentators have tried their critical skill, but without fuc-
cess. I cannot discover any meaning in the lines as they at pre-
sent stand, and shall therefore propose a trifling alteration. I
6. Call Sorrow hag! cry hem when he fhould groan.”.

A. B. (unhandsome warrior as I am)] How this came to be so blundered, I cannot conceive. It is plain Shakespeare wrote,

“Unhandsome wrangler as I am." WARBURTON. Unhandsome warrior, is evidently unfair assailant.

TOHNSON, “ Unhandsome warrior” should surely be 66 unhandsome “ lawyer," or pleader. The context will' sufficiently warrant this reading. Lawyer and warrior being somewhat alike in sound, the mistake was made in transcribing.

A. B.

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my soul,

Oh place ! oh form! How often dost thou with thy ease, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming!

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

Now my soul hath elbow-room, It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in

my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust.

King John, A. 5, S. 7. What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! Thou, that didft bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use ?

Henry V. A. 2, S. 2, It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure

brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.

King John, A. 5, S. 7.

Impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother; nay, my kingdom's heir; Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.

Richard II. A. I, S. 1. - God forgive the sin of all those fouls, That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of ev’ning fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

King John, A. 2, S. 1.


Thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
Infus’d itself in thee. Merchant of Venice, A. 4, S. I.

- All the souls that were, were forfeit once; And he that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy.

Measure for Measure, A. 2, S, 2.
Oh, how this discord doth afflict my soul!-
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not ?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils ?

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

My soul akes,
To know, when two authorities are up,
Neither supreme, how foon confusion
May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take
The one by the other. Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 1.

Believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.

All's well that ends well, A. 2, S. 5.

O Lord, that lend'st me life,
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face,
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

Henry VI. P. 2, A. I, S. 1.
Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,
Simple, plain Clarence !—I do love thee fo,
CC 2.


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That I will shortly send thy foul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.

Richard III. A. 1, S. 1.
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou hadft but power over his mortal body,
His foul thou canst not have.

Richard III. A. I, S. 2.
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No fleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils !

Richard III. A. I, S. 3:
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom my soul is any jot at odds,
More than the infant that is born to-night;
I thank my God for my humility.

Richard III. A. 2, S. I.

Remember this,
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy faints, and wronged souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces.

Richard III, A. 5, S. 3.
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition;
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect,
Which the proud soul ne’er pays, but to the proud.

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

This vifitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul;
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.

Hamlet, A. 3, S. 4.


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