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Nay, do not think I flatter:

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hath, but thy good spirits,

To feed, and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd ?

No, let the candy'd tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.

Why, what a deal of candied courtesy,
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look,-when his infant fortune came to age,
And, gentle Harry Percy,-and, kind cousin,
The devil take such cozeners !-God forgive me!

Why these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent.

Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made :
Feast-one, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers,
These flies are couch'd.


This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit.

As I do live by food, I met a fool;

Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady fortune in good terms,

In good set terms,

and yet a motley fool.

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In his brain,

Which is as dry as the remainder-bisket

After a voyage,

he hath strange places cramm'd

With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms.

I must have liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind,

To blow on whom I please; for so fools have:
And they that are most galled with my folly,

They most must laugh: and why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church:

He, that a fool doth very wisely hit,

Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob.

And then he drew a dial from his poke ;
And looking on it with lack lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:

Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;

And after one hour more, 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe, and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale.

When I did hear,

The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

That such a crafty devil as his mother

Should yield the world this ass! a woman, that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteen.



Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out,

Even to a full disgrace.

'Tis far off;

And rather like a dream, than an assurance my remembrance warrants.



Kneel not to me :

The power

that I have on you, is to spare you;

The malice towards you, to forgive you : live,

And deal with others better.

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,

Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury

Do I take part: the rarer action is

In virtue than in vengeance.

O, what form of prayer

Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder !-
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.

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 can'st; be better, at thy leisure.

There are a sort of men, whose visages

Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;

And do a wilful stillness entertain,

With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!

Lord Angelo is precise;

Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone.

Ceremony was but devis'd at first,

To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;

But where there is true friendship, there needs none.


When fortune means to men most good,

She looks upon them with a threatʼning eye.

Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose: but fortune O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee.

Will fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ?
She either gives a stomach, and no food,-
Such are the poor in health; or else a feast,
And takes away the stomach,-such the rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.

Fortune is merry,
And in this mood will give us any thing.

This accident and flood of fortune

So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,

And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
Το any other trust.

Since you will buckle fortune on my back, ́
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no,
I must have patience to endure the load.



A hungry lean-fac'd villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller;
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man this pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer;
And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd.


Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love:
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ;
Let every eye negociate for itself,

And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith:
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
Make gallant shew and promise of their mettle :
But when they should endure the bloody spur,
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,
Sink in the trial.

I count myself in nothing else so happy,
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense.

Dost thou hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish her election,

She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;


man, that fortune's buffets and rewards

Hast ta'en with equal thanks.


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