Imatges de pàgina
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I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain phantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bofom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Romeo and Juliet, A. I, S. 4.
I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers :
How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester !
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swelld, so old, and so profane ;
But, being awake, I do despise my dream.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 5, S. 5.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream;
The genius, and the mortal instruments,
Are then in council, and the state of

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

Julius Cæfar, A. 2, S. 1.
Think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shews us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Richard II. A. 5, S. 1,

Thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose,
I am a king, that find thee: and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farsed title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of the world,


No, not all these, faid in bed majestical,
Can fleep so foundly as the wretched Nave;
Who, with a body fill’d, and vacant mind,
Gets him to reft, cramm’d with distressful bread,
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
But, like a lacquey, froin the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phæbus, and all night
Sleeps in elysium.

Henry V. A. 4, S. I.
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Merchant of Venice, A. 2, S. 5.

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Others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd

their coats,
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul,
And such a one do I profess myself.

Othello, A. I, S. 1.

Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live on bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends ;-subjected thus,
How can you say to me-I am a king?

Richard II. A. 3, S. 2.
Every subject's duty is the king's : but every

subje&t's foul is his own. Therefore should

Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every fick man in his bed, wash every moth out of his conscience : and doing so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, 'the time was blessedly, loft, wherein such preparation was gained : and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that, making God so free an offer, he let him


out-live that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare. Henry V. A. 4, S. I.

We thought ourself thy lawful king:
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget

their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not, shew us the hand of God
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship.

Richard II. A. 3, S. 3.

-- Be pleased then
To pay that duty, which you truly owe,
To him that owes it, namely, this young prince :
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up.

King John, A. 2, S. 1.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
And throw it from their soul ; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours. Henry VIII. A. 3, S. 2.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such, a woman oweth to her husband:
And, when she’s froward, peevish, fullen, four,
And, not obedient to his honest will,
What is the but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?

Taming of the Shrew, A. 5, S. 2.

What poor duty cannot do, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit, Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, S. 1.

I love



and what poor duty cannot do,

Noble respe&t takes it in might, not merit.] The sense of this paffage, as it now stands, if it has any sense, is this: What the inability of duty cannot perform, regardful generosity receives as an ad of ability, though not of merit. The contrary is rather true:


I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perithing.

Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, S. 1.

In the modesty of fearful duty I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, S. 1.

Never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.

Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, S. 1.


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E A R,

OU cram these words into mine ears against


sense. Tempest, A. 2, S. 1.

The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt



Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears. Tempest, A. 3, S. 2.

Full many a lady
I've ey'd with best regard; and many a time

What dutifulness tries to perform without ability, regardful generosity
receives as having the merit, though not the power, of complete pare
We should therefore read,

6 And what poor duty cannot do,
66 Noble respect takes not in might, but merit."

• JOHNSON Might,” in this place, is not ability but endeavour.

A. B. H


The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear. Tempeft, A. 3, S. 1.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragic history.-

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

Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good;
Whereto if you'll a wiling ear incline,
What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.

Measure for Measure, A. 5, S. 1.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones,
So let it be with Cæsar. Julius Cæfar, A. 3, S. 2.
This sleep is found, indeed; this is a sleep,
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English kings. Thy due from me,
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteoufly.

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

pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a fieve.

Much ado about nothing, A. 5, S. 1. Ram'thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Antony and Cleopatra, A. 2, S. 5.


** Ram thou thy fruitful tidings-) Shakespeare probably wrote (as Sir T. Haniner observes) Rain thou, &c. Rain agrees better with the epithets, fruitful and barren. STEEVENS.


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