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againſt Anne arms Bard Bardolph bear better blood Caius comes couſin dead death doth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith Falſtaff Farewel father fear fight fir John follow Ford friends give gone grace hand Harry hath head hear heart heaven Henry Hoff hold honour horſe hour houſe huſband I’ll Jack John Juliet keep king lady leave live look lord marry maſter means meet miſtreſs moſt muſt myſelf never night noble Nurſe Page peace Poins poor pray prince Romeo ſaid ſay SCENE ſee ſet Shal ſhall Shallow ſhe ſhew ſhould ſir ſome ſon ſpeak ſtand ſuch ſweet ſword tell thee theſe thing thoſe thou art thou haſt thought true uſe whoſe wife wilt woman young
Page 46 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Page 85 - tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it? He that died o
Page 101 - I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester!
Page 63 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out...
Page 85 - Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o
Page 27 - The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Page 17 - True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Page 10 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
Page 85 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere 'scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.