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And interjoin their issues. So with me:-
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon.
This enemy-town.-I'll enter: if he slay me,
He does fair justice; if he give me way,
I'll do his country service.

CORIOLANUS, A. 4, s. 4.


'FAITH, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er lov'd them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground.

CORIOLANUS, A. 2, s. 2.


RETURN to her?

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,-
Necessity's sharp pinch!-Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot :-Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom.

I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another :-
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;


Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh,
Which I must needs call mine; thou art a boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,

In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it :
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:
I can be patient.

KING LEAR, A. 2, s. 4.


I WOULD not see thy cruel nails

Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.

The sea, with such a storm as his bare head

In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd


And quench'd the starred fires: yet, poor old heart,

He holp the heavens to rain.

If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, Thou should'st have said, Good porter, turn the


All cruels else submitted.-But I shall see

The winged vengeance overtake such children.

KING LEAR, A. 3, s. 7.


How! how! another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!-Remain thou here

[Putting on the ring.

While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles
I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner.


CYMBELINE, A. 1, s. 2.

YES, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: He, that loves to be flatter'd, is worthy o' the flatterer.

TIMON OF ATHENS, A. 1, s. 1.


NEVER fear that: If he be so resolv'd,
I can o'ersway him: for he loves to hear,
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers :
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flattered.
Let me work:

For I can give his humour the true bent;
And I will bring him.

JULIUS CAESAR, A. 2, s. 1.



PAROLLES. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen,

That hugs his kicksy-wicksey here at home.


BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to
my house,

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
That which I durst not speak: His present gift
Shall furnish me to those fields,

Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife
To the dark house, and the detested wife.

PAR. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure? BER. Gowith me to my chamber, and adviseme. I'll send her straight away: To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAR. Why, these balls bound; there's noise
in it. 'Tis hard;

A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so.



Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,

That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,
I met the raving lion when he roar'd

With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries, which nature owes,

Were mine at once: No, come thou home,

Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all; I will be gone :

My being here it is, that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.



O, HE sits high, in all the people's hearts;
And that which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richest alchymy,
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

JULIUS CÆSAR, A. 1, s. 3.


AARON is gone; and my compassionate heart
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise:

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