MOON,-continued.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears.

LINGERING.

M.V. v. 1.

Methinks, how slow

M. N. i. 1

This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.
MORNING.

See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prince of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

The busy day,

H. VI. PT. III. ii. 1.

Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows.

The sun is on the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton.

MORTALITY.

Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
This muddy vesture of decay.

MOTION.

Things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs.

MOURNING.

T. C. iv. 2.

K. J. iii. 3.

K.J. v.7.

M.V. v. 1.

T. C. iii. 3

'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound

In filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow: But to persévere
In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven:

A heart unfortified, a mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme

MOURNING,-continued.

Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
"This must be so."

Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of foro'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suit of woe.

MUCH ADO About NothinG.

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak.

MUNIFICENCE.

H. i. 2

H.i. 2.

C. v. 3.

The best ward of mine honour, is, rewarding my dependents.

MURDER.

} The great King of kings

Hath in the table of his law commanded,

L. L. iii. 1.

That thou shalt do no murder: Wilt thou then
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?

Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand,

To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

R. III. i. 4

There is no sure foundation set on blood;

No certain life achiev'd by others' death.

K. J. iv. 2.

Not afraid to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

This is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke,

That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,

R. III. i. 4.

K. J. iv. 3.

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

The very stones prate of my whereabout,

And take the present horror from the time,

Which now suits with it.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.

M. ii. I

MURDER,-cantinued.

Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, blood dogs.
Melting with tenderness, and mild compassion,
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.

R. III. iv. 3.

R. J. iii. 1.

Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize.
Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,
Ere human statute purg'd the general weal;
Ay, and since, too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear; the times have been,
That when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end: but now, they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools: This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

H. iv. 7.

M. iii. 4.

It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood;
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augures, and understood relations, have

By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret'st man of blood.

M. iii. 4.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

H. ii. 2

Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,

And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,

But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,

Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak,
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Wither'd murder,

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

H.VI. PT. II. iii. 2.

Whose howl's his watch, thus, with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

Moves like a ghost.

With all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

M. ii. 1

Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

Making the green one, red.

Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals!

How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!

You have no children, butchers! if you had,

The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse.

M. ii. 2.

H.VI. PT. III. v. 5,

MURDER,-continued.

Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

The bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

H. i. 5.

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.
Safe in a ditch he bides,

M. ii. 1.

With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature.

M. iii.4.

THE DUKE OF CLARENCE.

Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,

To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,

That thou wilt war with God, by murd'ring me?
Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on

To do this deed, will hate you for the deed.
Not to relent, is beastly savage, devilish.
Which, of you, if you were a prince's son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,

If two such murderers as yourselves came to
Would not entreat for life?

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,

Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
As you would beg, were you in

my distress.

A begging prince what beggar pities not?
2nd Murderer.-Look behind you, my lord.

you,

1st Murderer.-Take that, and that. (Stabbing him.)

YOUNG PRINCES (WALES and YORK).

O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,—
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms;

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,

R. III. i. 4.

Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay;

Which, once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind;
But, O, the devil-there the villain stopp'd
When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,

That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.

RICHARD THE SECOND.

R. III. iv. 3.

Exton.-From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Bolingbroke. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,

MURDER, RICHARD THE SECOND,-continued.

I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour;
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never shew thy head by day, nor light.

PRINCE ARTthur.

R.II. v. 6.

Hubert.-Here is your hand and seal for what I did. King John.-O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth

Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal

Witness against us to damnation!

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,

Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,

A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhor'd aspéct,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed;
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,

As bid me tell my tale in express words;

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me;
But thou didst understand me by my signs,

And didst in signs again parley with sin;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.—
Out of my sight, and never see me more!

SUSPICION OF.

If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair,

And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread

That ever spider twisted from her womb

Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be

K. J. iv. 2.

A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon,

And it shall be as all the ocean,

Enough to stifle such a villain up.—

I do suspect thee very grievously.

K. J. iv. 3.