FAIRIES,-continued.

To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
EMPLOYMENT.

To tread the ooze of the salt deep;
To run upon the sharp wind of the north;
To do me business in the veins o' the earth,
When it is bak'd with frost.

FAITH,

M. N. iii. 1.

T. i. 2.

Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.

M. A. i. 1.

FALLEN GREATNESS (See also LIFE, DEATH, MIGHTY DEAD.) 'Tis a sufferance, panging

H. VIII. ii. 3.

As soul and body's severing.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new opened: O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars and women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might

H. VIII. iii. 2.

Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:

Fortune and Antony part here; even here

J.C. iii. 2.

Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd
That over-topp'd them all.

A.C. iv. 10.

FALLEN GREATNESS,-continued.

High events as these

Strike those that make them: and their story is
No less in pity, than his glory, which

Brought them to be lamented.

Nay then, farewell!

A. C. v. 2

I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness!
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

H.VIII. iii. 2.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.

A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was, by a mousing owl, hawk'd at, and kill'd.
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers,
Not many moons gone by.

O wither'd is the garland of the war,

R. III. iv. 4.

M. ii. 4.

A. C. iii. 10.

The soldier's pole is fallen; young boys, and girls
Are level now with men; the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable

Beneath the visiting moon.

A. C. iv. 13.

O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low?

Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure?

J.C. iii. 1.

'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune,
Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own fall:-for men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer.

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now; and I feel within me

A peace above all earthly dignities,

T.C. iii. 3.

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,

These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honour:

O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. H.VIII, iii. 2.

FALLEN GREATNESS,-continued.

My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect,
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little.

What, amazed

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,

H.VIII. v. 2.

H. VIII. iv. 2

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,

I am fallen indeed.

H.VIII. iii. 2.

There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell,

The king has gone beyond me, all my glories

In that one woman I have lost for ever:

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,

Or gild again the noble troops that waited

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master.

H. VIII. iii. 2.

Brave Percy: Fare thee well, great heart!
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit,

A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough.

H. IV. PT. I. v. 4.

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes,
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:-
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd;
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd.
R. II. iii. 2.

O, my lord,

Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,

FALLEN GREATNESS,-continued.

Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him

So little of his great self.

H. VIII. iii. 2.

I must now forsake ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.

Farewell:

And when you would say something that is sad,
Speak how I fell.

Pry'thee go hence,

Or I shall show the cinders of my spirit

Through the ashes of my chance.

Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd.-Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld

Of eyes again so royal!

FALSE CHARACTERS.

H. VIII. ii. 4.

A. C. v. 2.

A. C. v. 2.

I am damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, you were good soldiers, and tall fellows: and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon mine honour, thou hadst it not.

HAIR.

So are those crisped snaky golden locks,

M. W. ii. 2.

Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known

To be the dowry of a second head,

That same Diomed is a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses; he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers fortel it; it is prodigious; there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his word. T.C. v. 1.

FALLSTAFF.

I have much to say on behalf of that Fallstaff.

FAME (See also CELEBRITY).

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs,

H. IV. PT. I. ii. 4.

FAME,-continued.

And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen
And make us heirs of all eternity.
All-telling Fame.

It deserves with characters of brass,

A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time
And razure of oblivion.

The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues
We write in water.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

He lives in fame, that died in virtue's cause.

After my death, I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.

edge, L.L. i. 1.

L. L. ii. 1.

M. M. v. 1.

J. C. iii. 2.

H.VIII. iv. 2.

R. III. iii. 1.

Tit. And. i. 2.

H. VIII. iv. 2.

Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph.

Fame, at the which he aims,—

H. IV. PT. I. v. 4.

In whom already he is well grac'd,-cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by
A place below the first: for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he

Had borne the business!

O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth,
I better brook the loss of brittle life,

Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;

C. i. 1.

They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh:

But thought's the slave of life, and life, time's fool;

And time, that takes survey of all the world,

Must have a stop.

Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs.

H. IV. PT. I. v. 4.

T. C. i. 3.