Lucentio that comes a wooing,-Priami, is my man Tranio,regia, bearing my port,-celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. Hortensio. Madam, my instrument's in tune. (Returning.) Bianca. Let's hear.-(HORTENSIO plays.) O! fye, the treble jars. Lucentio. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.—Act 3. Sc. 1. Hortensio. Kindness in woman, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love :-Act 4. Sc. 2. Katharina. I never saw a better-fashioned gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; Petruchio. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. Tailor. She says, your worship means to make a puppet of her. Petruchio. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, Thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! 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 ?—Id. Katharina. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning, unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads; A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,- And place your hands below your husband's foot: My hand is ready, may it do him ease.-Act 5. Sc. 2. Leontes. . WINTER'S TALE. There be in the cup may A spider steep'd, and one may drink; depart, The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known With violent hefts.-Act 2. Sc. 1. Leontes. The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands That calumny doth use.-Id. Paulina. The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. Sc. 2. Hermione., If powers divine Behold our human actions (as they do), I doubt not then, but innocence shall make Tremble at patience.-Act 3. Sc. 2. Perdita. How often have I told you 'twould be thus ? How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known? Florizel. It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, Am heir to my affection, Camillo. Be advis'd. Florizel. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Camillo. Florizel. So call it : This is desperate, sir. but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty, Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide To this my fair belov'd.-Act 4. Sc. 3. Autolycus. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance :-How now, rusticks, whither are you bound? Shepherd. To the palace, an' it like your worship. Autolycus. Your affairs there? what? with whom? The condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known, discover. Clown. We are but plain fellows, sir. Autolycus. A lie; you are rough and hairy: let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. Clown. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. Shepherd. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir? Autolycus. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.-Id. MACBETH. Banquo. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has. As happy prologues to the swelling act Act 1. Sc. 3. Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.— Cannot be ill; cannot be good:-if ill, My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, But what is not.-Id. Lady Macbeth. It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, Yet do I fear thy nature; The raven himself is hoarse, To catch the nearest way.-Sc. 5. Lady Macbeth. That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, сту, Macbeth. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch |