DANGER,-continued.
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To overbulk us all.

There is more in it than fair visage.

OLD.

'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
Than with an old one dying.

DARING.

As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud
On the uncertain footing of a spear.
I'll cross it though it blast me.

I dare damnation: To this point I stand.

T. C. i. 3.

H. VIII. iii. 2.

A. C. iii. 11.

H. IV. PT. I. i. 3

DARKNESS, ITS EFFECT ON THE FACULTY OF HEARING.
Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,

It pays the hearing double recompense.

MENTAL.

H. i. 1.

H. iv. 5.

M. N. iii. 2.

Madam, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled, than the Egyptians in their fog.

DAUGHTERS.

Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters,
By what you see them act.

DAWN.

The third hour of drowsy morning.

The silent hour steals on,

And flaky darkness breaks within the east.

And yon grey lines that fret the clouds,

Are messengers of day.

T. N. iv. 2.

O. i. 1.

H.V. iv. chorus.

R. III. v. 3.

J.C. ii. 1.

This morning, like the spirit of youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.

Swift, swift, you dragons of the night!-that
May bare the raven's eye.

But, look, the dawn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire.

A. C. iv. 4. dawning Cym. ii. ?.

Night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;

And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;

H. i. 1.

H. i. 5.

DAWN,-continued.

At whose approach, ghosts wand'ring here and there,
Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone.

M. N. iii, 2.

The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.

M. A. v. 3.

The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;

And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path-way made by Titan's wheels.

It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tip-toe on the misty mountain's top.
Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd.

DAY.

Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
Until his very downfall in the sea.
The stirring passage of the day.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
And having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach,
And overlooks the highest peering hills.

'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good

R. J. ii. 3.

R.J. iii. 5.
M. M. iv. 2.

Tit. And. v. 2.
C. E. iii. 1.

Tit. And. ii. 1.

deeds on't. W. T. iii. 3

H. IV. PT. II. i. 1.

DEATH (See also MAN, TIME, MIGHTY DEAD, LIFE, SOLDIER'S

.

DEATH).

The blind cave of eternal night.

Here is my journey's end; here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

O ruin'd piece of nature! this great world

Shall so wear out to nought.

Nay, nothing; all is said:

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;

R. III. v. 3.

0. v. 2.

K. L. iv. 6.

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. R. II. ii. 1,

DEATH,-continued.

Dead, for my life.

Even so ;-my tale is told.

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound

L. L. v. 2.

And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground, R. II. iii. 2.
Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
For none abides with me: my joy is-death;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,

Because I wish'd this world's eternity. H. VI. PT. II. 11. 4
O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake
Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honour.

I am a tainted wether of the flock,

Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.

All is but toys: renówn, and grace, is dead;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.

M. M. iii. 1

M.V. iv. 1

To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't,
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him, where he struck.

M. ii. 3

Cym. v. 3

It is too late; the life of all this 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,
Foretel the ending of mortality.

K. J. v. 7

So now prosperity begins to mellow,

And drop into the rotten mouth of death,

R. III. iv. 4.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

H. i. 2.

This fell serjeant death

Is strict in his arrest.

H. v. 5.

Dost fall?

If thou and nature can so gently part,

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch

Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.

O, our lives' sweetness!

That with the pain of death, we'd hourly die,
Rather than die at once!

A. C. v. 2.

K. L. v. 3.

DEATH,-continued.

We must die, Messala:

J.C. iv. 3.

With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.

O amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy détestable bones;

And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,

And be a carrion monster like thyself:

Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st;
And buss thee as thy wife? Misery's love,

O; come to me!

Eyes, look your last!

Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you,
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death.

Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop.

K. J. iii. 4.

R. J. v. 3.

H. IV. PT. II. iv. 4.

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

Which thou dost glare with.

O, my love! my wife!

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty :
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too.

That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time,
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

M. iii. 4.

R. J. v. 3.

Cym. v. 5.

J. C. iii. 1.

It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.

J. C. ii. 2.

H.VI. PT. 11. iii. 3.

Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation.

DEATH,-continued.

Death remember'd, should be like a mirror,
Who tells us, life's .but a breath; to trust it, error.

Oft have I seen a timely parted ghost,

Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart;

Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,

Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;

P. P. i. 1.

Which, with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth

To blush and beautify the cheek again. H.VI. PT. II. iii. 2.
The sleeping and the dead

Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil.

Finish, good lady, the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.

Dar'st thou die?

The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should
Burn itself out.

Her blood is settled and these joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
To die, is to be banish'd from myself.
O, death's a great disguiser.

We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst

M. ii. 2.

A. C. v. 2.

M. M. iii. 1.

R. II. ii. 1.

K. L. iv. 6.

R. J. iv. 5. T.G. iii. 1

M. M. iv. 2.

K. J. iv. 2