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Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad! what need'st thou run so many miles about, when thou may’st tell thy tale the nearest way?-K. RICH. IV., 4.

I

I run before

my

horse to market.-GLO. I., 1.

I clothe my naked villany with old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ; and seem a saint, when most I play the devil.—Glo. I., 3.

I would not spend another such a night, though 'twere to buy a world of happier days.-CLAR. I., 4.

In peace my soul shall part to heaven, since I have made my friends at peace on earth.-K. Edw. II., 1.

I would not grow so fast, because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste.-YORK, II., 4.

If! talk'st thou to me of ifs :-Glo. III., 4.

I'll play the orator, as if the golden fee, for which I plead, were for myself.—BUCK. III., 5.

J Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, for Dickon thy master is bought and sold.-K. RICH. V., 3.

M

My counsel is my shield; we must be brief, when traitors brave the field.-K. Rich. IV., 3.

My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.-Sur. V., 3.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tale, and every tale condemns me for a villain.-K. Rich. V., 3.

N

None can cure their harms by wailing them.-GLO. II., 2.

No more can you distinguish of a man, than of his outward show; which, God he knows, seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.-Glo. III., 1.

0

Often did I strive to yield the ghost: but still the envious flood kept in my soul, and would not let it forth to seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air. CLAR. I., 4.

O momentary grace of mortal men, which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, lives like a drunken sailor on a mast: ready, with every nod, to tumble down into the fatal bowels of the deep.--HAST. III., 4.

O Thou! whose captain I account myself, look on my forces with a gracious eye ; put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, that they may crush down with a heavy fall the usurping helmets of our adversaries ! make us thy ministers of chastisement, that we may praise thee in thy victory! to thee I do commend my watchful soul, ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ; sleeping, and waking, 0, defend me still !—RICHM. V., 3.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!K. Rich. V., 3.

P

Pity, that the eagle should be mew'd, while kites and buzzards prey at liberty.--Hast. I., 1.

Princes have but their titles for their glories, an outward honour for an inward toil; and, for unfelt imaginations, they often feel a world of restless cares; so that, between their titles, and low name, there's nothing differs but the outward fame.—BRAK. I., 4.

Pitchers have ears.-Q. ELIZ. II., 4.

S

Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.-BRAK. I., 4.

Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.YORK, II., 4.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.—Glo. III., 1.

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.-Glo. III., 7.

T

The world is grown so bad, that wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch.—Glo. I., 3.

Talkers are no good doers.—1 MURD. I., 3.

Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.CLAR. I., 4.

The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind.-Q. ELIZ. II., 4.

The untainted virtue of your years hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit.-GLO. III., 1.

To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, were to incense the boar to follow us, and make pursuit, where he did mean no chase.-Hast. III., 2.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay.-TYR. IV., 3.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.Rich. V., 2.

The weary sun hath made a golden set, and, by the bright track of his fiery car, gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.-Rich. V., 3.

The early village cock hath twice done salutation to the morn.-RAT. V., 3.

W

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd: Was ever woman in this humour won ?-Glo. I., 2.

Why grow the branches, when the root is gone ? why wither not the leaves, that want their sap ?-Q. Eliz. II., 2.

Woe to that land, that's govern’d by a child !-3 CIT. II., 3.

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; when the sun sets, who doth not look for night?-3 Cit.

3.

II.,

Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. BUCK. V., 1.

Y Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, but look'd not on the poison of their hearts.—Glo. III., 1.

Macbeth

A

Are ye fantastical, or that indeed which outwardly ye shew ?-Ban. Act I., Scene 3.

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