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WELL DOING, THE DUTY OF,-continued.
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd,
But to fine issues: nor nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence,
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,
Both thanks and use.
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen, in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division to her lutè.
Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh ;
And 'tis no marvel he's so humorous.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
WIFE (See also ESPOUSAL).
If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known,
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown
Then, if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
Which native she doth owe.
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as doves-down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er. W. T. iv. 3.
My noble father,
I do perceive here a divided duty:
To you I am bound for life and education;
My life and education both do learn me
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;
I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband;
And so much duty as my mother show'd
To you, preferring you before her father,
So much I challenge that I may profess
Due to the Moor, my lord.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband:
And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself
But, as it were, on sort, or limitation;
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
J.C. ii. 1.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance: commits his body
To painful labour, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience.
I will be master of what is mine own:
She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My household-stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
I will bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua.
Go thy ways, Kate:
That man i' the world, who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone,
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,-
Obeying in commanding,-and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,)
The queen of earthly queens.
You are my true and honourable wife;
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops,
That visit my sad heart.
O, ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife!
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife;
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well reputed; Cato's daughter.
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd and so husbanded?
She is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Should all despair,
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none:
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant.
As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another;
The third 'o the world is yours: which, with a snaffle,
You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
A. C. ii. 2.
But the full sum of me
Is sum of something; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd:
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours, to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
I am asham'd, that women are so simple
To offer war where they should sue for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Fye, fye, unknit that threat'ning unkind brow;
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor;
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads;
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds;
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle ? M. A. ii. 1.
Alas, poor lady!
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
O, Sir, to wilful men,
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their schoolmasters.
I do think, it is their husbands' faults,
If wives do fall; Say, that they slack their duties
And pour our treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despight:
Why, we have galls; and, though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge.
Let husbands know,
Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell,
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do,
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is: And doth affection breed it?
I think it doth; Is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is so too: And have not we affections?
Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then, let them use us well; else, let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us to.
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
How to cut off some charge in legacies.
For death remember'd, should be like a mirror,
Who tell us, life's but breath; to trust it, error.
I'll make my will then; and, as sick men do,
Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe,
Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did.
Thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much.
Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will;
A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will.
K. J. ii. 1.
Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest, indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.
M. W. iii. 4.
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. H. VI. PT. III. ii. 5.
WINE (See also DRUNKARD).
Drunk! and speak parrot? and squabble? and swagger? and speak fustian with one's own shadow? O, thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, 0. ii. 3. let us call thee-devil!
Come, come; good wine is a good familiar creature, if it 0. ii. 3. be well used; exclaim no more against it.
Cym. ii. 3.
Winning would put any man into courage.
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly, &c.
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit! to-who! a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom.
To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield.
We will spare for no wit, I warrant you. He uses his folly like a stalking horse, and sentation of that, he shoots his wit.
But a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal:
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
M. A. iii. 5. under the preA. Y. v. 4.
Odd quirks and remnants of wit.
M. A. ii. 3.
Since the little wit that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have, makes a great show. 4. Y. i. 2.