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Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in 's heart.

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, the dog is dead!
How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a christian :

But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.

I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To christian intercessors.

If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the antient grudge I bear him.

Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
H.VI. PT. III. i. 4.

But his flaw'd heart,
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.


Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been own'd and worn.

C. i. 10.

R. III. iv. 4.

M. V. i. 3.

A good leg will fall; a strait back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. H.V. v. 2. L. L. v. 2.

A light heart lives long.

It is an honour 'longing to our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors.
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world,
In me to lose.

M. V. i. 3.

M. V. iii. 3.

K. L. v. 3.

A. W. v.3


There is an old tale goes, that Herne, the hunter,
Some time a keeper here in Windsor forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,

A. W. iv. 2.

HERNE'S OAK,-continued.

Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle;
And makes milch kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner.
M. W. iv. 4.


Such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names: and they will learn you by rote where services are done. H.V. iii. 6.

What a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on!


Either our history shall, with full mouth,

Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave,

H.V. iii. 6.

Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
Nor worship'd with a waxen epitaph.

By his light,

Did all the chivalry of England move

To do brave acts: he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.

A true knight;

H.V. i. 2.

H. IV. PT. II. ii. 3.

Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word,
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue;
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd:
His heart and hand both open, and both free;

For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shows;
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty,
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath:
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes
To tender objects, but he, in heat of action,
Is more vindicative than jealous love.

Now, whether it be

Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event,-

T.C. iv. 5.

A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,
And, ever, three parts coward,—I do not know
While yet I live to say,-This thing's to do.


Gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon.

H. iv. 4.

H. IV. PT. I. i. 2.


Instructed by the antiquary times,
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise.


A hit, a very palpable hit.


To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday.

We need no grave to bury honesty ;
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.

T.C. ii. 3.


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

Out of your proof we speak: we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know not
What air's from home.
Cym. iii. 3.

Take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest is not safe.

H. v. 5.

K. J. iii. 1.


Ay, Sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. H. ii. 2.

M. N. v. 1.

W.T. ii. 1.

O. iii. 3.

I am myself indifferent honest: but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in: What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all; believe none of us. H. iii. 1.

Let me behold

Thy face. Surely this man was born of woman.—
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual sober-gods! I do proclaim
One honest man,-mistake me not,-but one;
No more, I pray, and he's a steward.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me, as the idle wind,
Which I respect not.

T. A. iv. 3.

J. C. iv. 3.


This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest.

Ha, ha, what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, brother, a very simple gentleman!

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his; him on't, but I could never get him from it. Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no

M. iv. 3.

his sworn W.T. iv. 3.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. W.T. iv. 3.

I have told
T. A. iii. 1.


A. W. i. 3.

A. C. iii. 11.

Mine honesty and I begin to square.
The purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten times barr'd up chest,
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done.
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac❜d moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear,
Without corrival, all her dignities:
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold,
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
But, if it be a sin to covet honour,

I am the most offending soul alive.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life.
For life, I prize it,
As I weigh grief, which I would spare for honour,

R. II. i. 1.

T. S. iv. 3.

H. IV. PT. I. i. 3.

H.V. iv. 3.

T. C. v. 3.


'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for.

The king has cur'd me,

W. T. iii. 2.

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.

He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming.

H. VIII. iii. 2.

Your presence glads our days; honour we love,
For who hates honour, hates the gods above.

For men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath any honour; but honour for those honours
That are without him; as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:

Which, when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Do one pluck down another, and together

Die in the fall.

Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it.
A scar nobly got,

Or a noble sear, is a good livery of honour.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour: good alone

Is good, without a name: vileness is so;
The property by what it is should go,
Not by the title.

For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

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Cym. i. 7.

P. P. ii. 3.

T.C. iii. 3.

J.C. v. 5.

A. W. iv. 5.

A. W. ii. 3.

Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!

How many then should cover that stand bare!

How many be commanded that command!

How much low peasantry would then be glean'd

0. v. 2.

From the true seed of honoúr! and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd!

M.V. ii. 9.

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