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Let the world slide. The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 1.

I'll not budge an inch.

As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell
And twenty more such names and men as these
Which never were nor no man ever saw.

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en;
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
There's small choice in rotten apples.

Ibid.

Induc. Sc. 2.

Act i. Sc. 1.

Why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.

Tush tush! fear boys with bugs.

And do as adversaries do in law,

Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

Ibid.

Act i. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

My cake is dough.

Act v. Sc. 1.

And thereby hangs a tale.1

A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,

Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. Act v. Sc. 2.

Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband.

"T were all one

That I should love a bright particular star
And think to wed it.

Ibid.

All's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.

The hind that would be mated by the lion

Must die for love.

Ibid.

1 Othello, Act iii. Sc. 1; Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. Sc. 4; As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to heaven.

All's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.

Service is no heritage.

He must needs go that the devil drives.

My friends were poor but honest.

Oft expectation fails and most oft there
Where most it promises.

Act i. Sc. 3.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and

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Ibid.

All impediments in fancy's course

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,1
That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour!

Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

1 'Like the sweet south,' Dyce and Singer.

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Ibid.

Is it a world to hide virtues in?

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive

If you will lead these graces to the grave
And leave the world no copy.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out.

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

Act i. Sc. 5.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.

Ibid.

He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Ibid.

Sir To. Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.

These most brisk and giddy-paced times.

Let still the woman take

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.

Ibid.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself,

Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.

Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun

And the free maids that weave their thread with bones

Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Duke.

And what's her history?

Ibid.

Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too.

Ibid.

Ibid.

An you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

Act ii. Sc. 5.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

The trick of singularity.

Ibid.

Ibid.

O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

Ibid.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou

write with a goose-pen, no matter.

This is very midsummer madness.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Act iii. Sc. 4.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

More matter for a May morning.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Still you keep o' the windy side of the law.

An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'ld have seen him damned ere I'ld have challenged him.

Ibid.1

Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something.

Ibid.1

As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That that is is.

Act iv. Sc. 2.

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion?

Mal. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

For the rain it raineth every day.

What's gone and what's past help

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Should be past grief. The Winter's Tale. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.

A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

1 Act iii. Sc. 5, Dyce.

Act iv. Sc. 3.2

2 Act iv. Sc. 2, Dyce, Knight, Singer, Staunton, White.

Ibid.

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