I know no Court but martial. No oily language but the shock of arms. No dalliance but with death. No lofty measure but weary, & sad marches.
By ,
in not in source (1.1.61-64),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
upon the edges of my enemies swords I have marched like whirlwinds, fury at this handwaiting, Death at my right, Fortune
my forlorn hope, when I have grappled with destruction, & tugg'd
with pale faced ruin, night, & mischief frighted to see a
new day break in blood.
By ,
in not in source (1.1.68-74),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
If a man mean to live: not to fight & swagger, Beaten about the ears with bawling
sheepskins, cut to the soul for summer, here an arm lost &
there a leg, his honourable head seal’d up in salves, & cerecloths,
like a packet & so sent over to an hospital. & all this sport for
cheese, & chines of dogs flesh, & money when two wednesdays meet
together.
By Fool,
in The Mad Lover (1.2.320-328),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
– this fellow with all his frights about him
& his furies, his 'larums, & his lances, swords and targets Nay case him up in armour
cap-a- pie, yet I durst undertake
By ,
in not in source (1.2.46-51),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
4.
– if I studied the country's laws I should so easily sound all
their depth, & rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders that now are
in most practice, & esteem should starve for want of clients. If I travell'd like wise Ulysses to see men, & manners, I would return
in act more knowing than Homer could fancy him. If a physician
so oft I would restore death-wounded men, That where I lived
Galen should not be named, & he that join'd again the scattered limbs Of
torn Hippolytus should be forgotten. I could teach Ovid courtship. how
to win A Julia, & enjoy her, tho her dower were all the Sun gives
light to. And for arms, were the Persian host that drank up rivers
added to the Turks present powers, I could direct common, & marshal them
By Duarte,
in The Custom of the Country (2.1.111-28),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 3
Sure she has
transform’d me, I had forgot my tongue clean. I never saw a face yet, but this is rare one, But I was able bodly to encounter it, And speak my mind: my lips were lock'd upon me This is divine & only served with reverence
By ,
in not in source (2.4.76-80),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 5
Ye keep a prating of y our points of manners, & fill my head
with lousy circumstances, better have ballets in’t. Your courtly worships how to put off my hat, you how to turn me, & you
forsooth how to blow my nose discreetly
By ,
in not in source (1.2.10-14),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 7
–And
yet the courage they expressed being taken, & their contemt of death wan more upon me than all they did when they were free. methinks I
see them yet when they were brought aboard us disarmed & ready
to be put in fetters How on the sudden as if they had sworn
never to taste the bread of servitutde Both snatching up their swords
& from this Virgin Taking a farewell only with their eyes They leap'd
into the sea --
By Leopold,
in The Custom of the Country (2.2.9-18),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 11
& with such strength & cunning, they swim ming did delude the rising billows, with one hand making way
& with the other their bloody swords advanced, threatening the seagods
with war, unlesse they brought them safely off that I am almost
confident they live
By Leopold,
in The Custom of the Country (2.2.28-33),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 11
1.
The loves we now know are but the heats of half and hour & heated desires stirred up by nature to increase her licking of one another to a lust
coarse & base appetites, earth's mere inheritors and the heirs of idleness & blood.
By Memnon,
in The Mad Lover (2.1.132-44),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
things like ourselves as sensual, vain, unvented, bubbles and breaths of air
got with an itching, as blisters are and, bred, as much corruption flows from their lives; sorrow conceives & shapes
them. & oftentimes the death of those we love most the breeders bring them to
the world.
By Memnon,
in The Mad Lover (2.1.159-64),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
&c. p. 7
They make time old to tend them & experience an ass they
alter so. They grow. & goodly ere we can turn our thoughts, like drops of
water, they fall into the main, & are know no more. This is the love
of this world.
By Memnon,
in The Mad Lover (#2.1.167-71),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
Yes Not for your beauty. though I confess it blows
the first fire in us. time as he passes by puts out that sparkle
Not for y our wealth although the world kneel to it, And make it all addition to a woman Fortune that
ruins all, makes that his conquest. Be honest & be virtuous
I'll admire ye
By ,
in not in source (3.2.139-145),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
From Harpies nails & Furies whips, From all sharp noses
& thin lips From two legg'd cats with thrice nine lives from scalding wort, From scolding wivesFrom full-mouthed blasts, from female blows, From smooth-fac'd Sluts, from sharp-nail'd Shrews; From wounds to inflict, from plagues to inflict me, My Genius bless, my stars protect me
--
By Comodus,
in The Virgin Widow (1.4.29-34),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 13
1.
get thee to school, again, and talk of turnips, & find out the natural cause out why a dog
turns thrice about ere he lie down. there’s learning.
By ,
in not in source (3.2.121-23),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 18
Thou may wear him next thy heart, & yet not warm him. His mind ( poor man's) of the
law, how to live after, & not on lewdness. On my conscience he knows not how to
look upon a woman more than by reading what sex she is.
By Bartolus,
in The Spanish Curate (2.4.14-9),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 18
– no tomb shall hold thee but these two arms. no trickments but my tears Over thy hearse my
sorrows like sad arms shall hand for ever On the toughest marble mine eyes shall weep thee out an Epitaph. &cet cetera.
By ,
in not in source (5.4.293-97),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 19
1. Enter a mask of beasts.
This lion was a man of war that died As thou wouldst do,
to gild his lady's pride. This dog a fool that hung himself for
love. This ape with daily hugging of a glove forgot to eat
& died. This goodly tree An usher that still grew before his
Lady witherd at root. This, for he could not woo, a grumbling
Lawyer. This pied bird a page, that melted out because he
wanted age.
By Orpheus,
in The Mad Lover (78-86),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 21
– 3
your presents. courtship, that s too good a
name, your sllave-like services your morning music, your walking
three hours in the rain at midnight To see her at her window,
sometimes laugh'd at, sometimes admitted, & vouchsafed to
kiss her glove, her skirt, nay I have heard her slippers. How then
you triumph'd?
By Cleremont,
in The Little French Lawyer (1.1.101-7),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 21
I dare tell you to your new cerused face, what I have spoke freely behind your back, what I think of you You are the proudest thing & have the least reason to be so, that I ever read of. In stature
you are a giantess, & your tailor takes measure of you with a
Jacobs staff, or he can never reach you. this, by the way For your large size. Now, in a word or two, To treat of your complexion were decorum, you
are so far from fair, I doubt your mother was too familiar
with the Moore that serve her. Y our limbs, & features I pass briefly
over, as things not worth description, & come roundly to your soul
if you have any. for ‘tis doubtful.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (4.1.32-46),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 23
This soul I speak of (or rather salt,
to keep this heap of flesh from being a walking stench) like a
large Inn stands open for the entertainment of all impious practices, but there’s no corner an honest thought can take up, &c.
By ,
in not in source (5.1.47-52),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 23
2.
to get upon my great horse, & appear the sign of such a man
& trot my measures, or fiddle out whole frosty nights my friends under the
window, while my teeth keep tune, I hold no handsomeness.
By ,
in not in source (2.1.22-6),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 25
-- join farm to farm, suffer no Lordship that in a clear day Falls
in the prospect of your covetous eye to be anothers. forget you are a grandee take use
upon use, & cut the throats of heirs with cozening Mortgages
rack your poor tenants, till they look like so many skeletons
for want of food: And when that widows' curses the ruins of ancient
families, tears of Orphans Have hurried you to the devil, ever remember all was raked up for me, your thankful brother, that will dance merrily upon your grave, perhaps give a double
pistolet to some poor needy friar to say a mass to keep
y our ghost from walking.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (1.1.197-211),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 27
If you can find a loophole though in hell, o look on my behaviour,you shallseeme him ransack y our iron chests. & once again
Pluto’s flamecoloured daughter shall be free to domineer in
Taverns, masks, & revels, as she was used before she was
y our captive.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (1.1.214-19),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 27
--at home he lived like a chameleon, suck'd the air of misery, & grew
fat by the brewis of an eggshell. would smell a cook's shop, & go
home, & surfeit, & be a month in fasting out that fever.
By Lopez,
in The Spanish Curate (4.5.19-23),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 27
2
– So jealous as if you would parallel Old Argus to him you
must multiply his eyes a hundred times. of these none sleep.
He that would charm the heaviest lid must hire a better
Mercury than Jove made use of.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (1.1.283-87),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 28
– My Amaranta
a retired sweet life, Private, & close, & still, & housewifely
becomes a wife, sets off the grace of woman. At home to be
believed both young. & handsome, As lilies that are cased in crystal glasses, Makes up the wonder: shew it abroad, ‘tis stale. &
still the more eyes cheapen it, ‘tis more slubberd. And what need
windows open to inviting? or evening terraces to take opinions when the most wholesome air my wife blows inwards, when good thoughts
are the noblest companions, & old chaste stories wife the best discourses. --
By Bartolus,
in The Spanish Curate (2.2.1-12),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 28
2
Can you with one hand prop a falling tower or with the
other stop the raging main when it breaks in on the usurped
shore, or any thing ] that is impossible? and then conclude that there is some
way left to move him to compassion ----
By Octavio,
in The Spanish Curate (1.2.6-11),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 29
– they eat nothing but herbs &
get nothing but green sauce. there are Some poor labourers that perhaps
once in seven years with helping one another produce some
few pined butter prints, that scarce hold the christening neither.
By Diego,
in The Spanish Curate (2.1.66-70),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 31
It would be requisite I should deck my Language with tropes, & figures, & all flourishes that grace a Rhetorician. 'tis confess'd Adulterate metals need the goldsmith's art to set em off. what in itself is perfect contemns a borrowed gloss.
By Bartolus,
in The Spanish Curate (3.3.70-75),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 34
a lawyer that entangles all
mens honesties. & lives like a spider in a cobweb lurking, &
catching at all flies that pass his pit-falls. puts powder to
all states to make ‘em caper.
By Lopez,
in The Spanish Curate (4.5.166-70),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 35
3
that daring vice for which the whole age suffers. The blood our bold
youth that heretofore was spent in honourable action Or to defend or
to enlarge the kingdom. For the honour of our country and our prince Pours itself out with Odd p abbreviation: check MUFI prodigal expense upon our
mothers lap the earth, that bred us, for every trifle.
By Cleremont,
in The Little French Lawyer (1.1.12-15),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 37
And I have heard
that some of our late Kings For the lie wearing of a mistress' favours, a cheat at cards, or dice Have lost as many gallant gentle
men, as might have met the great Turk in the field, with confidence
of a glorious Victory.
By Cleremont,
in The Little French Lawyer (1.1.29-35),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 37
— But I'll not quarrel with this gentleman
for wearing stammel breeches. or this gamester for playing a
a thousand pounds that owes me nothing &c
By ,
in not in source (1.1.86-89),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 37
– let me first fall
Before y our feet & on them pay the duty I owe your goodness. next all blessings to younext, all blessings to you, And Heaven restore the joys I have bereft you, With full increase hereafter!living be the goddess styled of
hospitality.
By Rutilo,
in The Custom of the Country (2.4.114-119),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 41
4.
He's a name only. & all good in him He must derive from
his great grandsires ashes. For had not their victorious acts be-
queath’d His titles to him, & wrote on his forehead This is a
Lord, he had lived unobserved By any man of mark, & died as
one Among the common rout.
By Duarte,
in The Custom of the Country (2.1.94-104),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 45
--Then we live indeed, when we can go to rest with out alarum Given every mintue to a guilt-sick conscience. To keep
us waking, & rise in the morning secure in being innocent; but
when in the remembrance of our worser actions we ever bear about us whips,
& furies To make the day a night of sorrow to us Even life’s a
burden .----
By Doctor,
in The Custom of the Country (4.1.6-14),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 48
– a fleshed
ruffian, who hath so often taken the strappado, that tis to him but
as a lofty trick Is to a tumbler. he hath perus’d too all
dungeons in the kingdomPortugual. thrice seven years row’d in the gallies
for three several murders. Though I presume that he has done a hundred, and scap'd unpunish'd.
By Zabulon,
in The Custom of the Country (4.2.6-13),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 49
If they happen upon a man of fortunes. one that deserves to take up
life at interest, & to buy his languishment at a profuse rate how
will they prolong the care, & make the best advantage?
By Artesio,
in The Virgin Widow (1.3.40-44),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 53
-- which with the help of a gold nightcap a few conjuring
words, & a large conscience will go far & sett me up in a market town
where I may pass for a Padua Dr. ‘Tis but Italianating my
name, garb, language, habit. Seignor Quackquinto. &c
By Quck,
in The Virgin Widow (2.1.33-35),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 53
Bid me go snatch a daring thunderbolt, Or twi-forkt lighting from the hand of Jove: Bid me go stop the flowing tides,
Or stay A singing bullet in the middle way. Bid me go
tame a dragon or restrain The Armes of Furies bent to high revenge, This were an easy task; nay easier
far To slack hells falmes, than quench Marina’s rage.
By Comodus,
in The Virgin Widow (1.4.64-70),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 54
I’ve got such a cold, with rising and walking in my shirt a nights that a Bittern whooping in a Reed
is better Music: but yet as free, as the Musicians of the Wood.
By Orsames,
in Aglaura (5(c).1.99-****),
Sir John Suckling
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 61
To make a child now swadled to
proceed Man, & then shoot up in one beard, & weed
past threescore years: Or with 3 rusty swords, And help
of some few foot & half foot words Fight over
York & Lancasters long jars, And in the tiring house
bring wounds to scars.
By Prologue,
in Every Man in his Humour (Prologue.6-12),
Ben Jonson
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 68
neither Chorus wafts you
ore the seas, Nor creaking Throne comes down the
boys to please; Nor nimble squib is seen, to make
afeard the Gentlewomen; nor rolled Bullet heard
To say it thunders, nor tempestuous drum rum
bles to tell you, when the storm doth come.
By Prologue,
in Every Man in his Humour (Prologue.15-20),
Ben Jonson
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 68
Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds, in the trenches for the soldiers
in the wakeful study for the scholar, in the furrows of the sea
for the men of our profession: of all which and springs up Honor
By Romelio,
in The Devil's Law Case (1.1.60-64),
John Webster
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 69
If ever I would have mine drawn to th'life, I would have a painter steal it at such a time when I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers:
There then a heavenly Beauty in't: the soul
moves in the Superficies—
By Leonora,
in The Devil's Law Case (1.1.134-135),
John Webster
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 69
--the Court to well-composed nature adds much to perfection, for it is, or should be As a bright crystal mirror to
the world, to dress itself but I must tell you, sister, If th'excellency of the place could have wrought salvation, the Devil had new fallen from Heaven.
By Romelio,
in The Devil's Law Case (3.3.10-15),
John Webster
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
Ignoramus wears that spacious Inkhorn all a
vacation, only to c u re tetters: & his penknife to
weed corns from the splay toes of the right worshipful
By ,
in not in source (4.1.33, 51-54),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
-The Ravens feather is as gentle and sleek as the mole on Venus
cheek. Hence vain show! I only care to preserve my soul most fair; Never mind the outward skin, But the jewel, that’s within.
By Jolenta,
in The Devil's Law Case (5.6.35-),
John Webster
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
if all the Houses in the town were prisons, the chambers
cages, all the settles stocks, the broad Gates gallows
& the whole people Justices, Juries, Constables Keepers and Hangmen,
I’d practice spite of all_
By Ronca,
in Albumazar: A Comedy (TLN83-87),
Thomas Tomkis
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
So wise, as if you had eaten nothing but brains & marrow
of Machiavelli: you tip your speeches with Italian motti; spanish
refraines & English Quoth-Hees. Believe me, there's not a
a proverb salts your tongue, but plants whole colonies
of white Hairs.
By Sulpitia,
in The Custom of the Country (TLN2282-2287),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 71
They found no room in all their calendar To place my name (that should have removed princes Pulled the most eminent prelates by the roots up for my dear coming to make way for me) let every petty martyr and saint homily, Roch, Maine, and Petronill (itch and ague-curers) your Abbess Aldegund, and Cunigund the widow Marcell, parson Polycarp, Cic'ly and Urs'ly all take place of me. And but for the bissextile, or leap year- And that's but one in three--I fall by chance Into the nine-and-twenti'th day of February. There were no room else for me See their love Their conscience too
to thrust me a lame soldier into Leap-year.
By Ignatius Loyola,
in A Game at Chess: A Later Form (Induction.18-33),
Thomas Middleton
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 71
Tis a most Lordly Life to rail at ease, sit, Eat, & feed upon the fat
of one Kingdom & rail upon another with the juice on't
I have write this Book out of the strength & marrow of six-and-thirty Dishes at a Meal: but most of it out of the Cullis of Cock sparrows
By Fat Bishop Spalato,
in A Game at Chess: A Later Form (2.2.18-21),
Thomas Middleton
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 72
Impudent pawn! For thy sake at this Minute modesty suf
fers all that 's virtuous, blushes; & truth's self like the sun
vexed with a Mist, looks red with Anger.
By ,
in not in source (2.2.143-147),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 72
a man whose blood is very snow-broth, one, who never feels the wanton stings &
motions of the sense, but doth rebate and blunt his natural age with Study & Fastingfast orig-fasting reg-fast
By Lucio,
in Measure for Measure (TLN409-413),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 75
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly Jewels, Which Pericles hath lost, Begin to
part the fringes of bright gold, Those diamonds of a most praised
water do appearing to make the World twice rich —
By Cerimon,
in Pericles (TLN1298-1302),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 76
I'll sooner expect mercy from a Usurer when my Bond's forfeited, sooner kindness from a Lawyer when my money's spent: nay, sooner charity from the Devil, then good from a Puritan.I'll look for Relief from him, when Lucifer is restor’d to his blood, & in Heaven again.
By Captain Idle,
in The Puritan Widow (TLN444-449),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
Where ere Ancora, Handmaid of the sun, Where Ere
the sun, bright Guardian of the day, Where ere the joyful day with cheerful light
illuminates the world, The Trojans glory flies
with Golden wings
By Corin,
in Locrine (TLN88-92),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
Begotten, & born in the wane of the Moon, when every thing as Lactantius in his fourth book of Consultations doth say, goeth arseward
By Strumbo,
in Locrine (TLN313-317),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as Turtle to her Mate, As Iron to
Adamant, as Earth to the Center: Yet after all
comparisons of Truth, As true as Troilus shall crown up the Verse)
& sanctify the numbers.
By Troilus,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN1810-1816),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 78
When they've said, as false as air, as water, win, or sandy earth, As Fox to Lambs, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind as Stepdame to her son, 'Yea,' let them say
to stick the Heart of Falshood, As false as Cressid.
By Cressida,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN1825-1830),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 78
We two that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other,
must poorly sell ourselves. with the rude brevity, & discharge
of one. Injurious Time now with a Robber's haste
Crams his rich thievery up he know not how.
By Troilus,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN2424-2429),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 78
-a falshearted rogue. a most unjust knave I’ll no more trust him, when
he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses. he will spend his
mouth andpromiselike Brabbler the hound:; but when he pforms, Astronomers foretell, it is prodigious. there will come some change. The
Sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his Word
By Thersites,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN2963-2967),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 79
Excellent fair! If God did All
Tis in grain, Sir, ’Twill
Endure Wind & weather!
Tis Beauty truly blent, who
’s red & white Nature's own sweet & cunning hand laid on.
By ,
in not in source (TLN529-531),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 79
Daffodils that come before the swallow dares. and take the winds of March with beauty
Violets dim, but sweeter than the Lids of Juno’s Eyes, Or Cytherea's Breath, pale primroses, that die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength--a malady Most incident to maids; bold Oxlips and the crown imperial.
By Perdita,
in Winter's Tale (TLN1932-1940),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 79
A statuary.|
Could he but breath into his Work, would
beguile Nature of her Work Custom; so perfectly he is her
Ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermioneso like, that they say one would
speak to her & stand in hope of Answer.
By Third Gentleman,
in Winter's Tale (TLN3105-3110),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 80
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.
By Clown,
in All's Well that Ends Well (TLN845-850),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 81
Here’s a large Mouth indeed, that spits forth death, and mountains, and rocks, and seas – talks as familiarly of roaring Lions As maids of thirteen
do of puppy -dogs. What cannonier begot this lusty
blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, & smoke and bounce he gives the Bastinado with his tongue. Others are cudgel'd.
--not a word of his, but buffets better than a fist of France: - I was never so
bethumped with words.
By Bastard,
in King John (TLN773-779),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 81
whose armour Conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, as Gods own soldier – With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil That Broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids Who, having no external thing to lose, But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of that That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity. Commodity, the bias of the world The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent. And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapped on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid
By Bastard,
in King John (TLN885-905),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 82
Death, Death ô amiable, lovely Death, thou hate &
terror to propserity, , And I will kiss thy bones, I’ll put
my eyeballs in thy vaulty Brows, & ring these fingers
with thy household worms – Come grin on me, & I
will think thou smil’st & buss thee as thy Wife—
By Constance,
in King John (TLN1408-1418),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 82
from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell & his tongue the clapper.
By Don Pedro,
in Much Ado About Nothing (TLN1217-1221),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 82
I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured, but she would spell him backward. If
fair faced, she wouldswear the Gentleman should be her sister. If black;- why Nature drawing an antique made a foul blot; If
tall, a Lance ill-headed; If low, an agate very vilely
cut; If speaking, why, a Vane blown with all winds, If silent, why a Block moved with none: So turns she every man the wrong side out.
By Hero,
in Much Ado About Nothing (TLN1149-1158),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 83
I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth,
as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle; either too much at once, or none at all.
By ,
in not in source (TLN1394-1397),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 84
y our Argosies with portly sail like signiors, and rich
Burgers on the flood, or as it were the pageants of the Sea
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curtsy to them, do them reverence, as they fly by them with their woven Wings
By Salarino,
in The Merchant of Venice (TLN12-17),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 84
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of Nothing more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of Wheat, hid in two bushels of Chaff: you shall
seek all day, ere you find them, & when you have them, they-
are not worth the search.
By Bassanio,
in The Merchant of Venice (TLN123-127),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 85
hears merry tales & smiles
not. I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old,
being so full of unmannerly sadness in his Youth. I had rather
be married to a death's-head with a Bone in his mouth.
By Portia,
in The Merchant of Venice (TLN240-244),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 85
thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street & because he hathwakenedthy dog, that lain asleep in the sun: didst thoug notfall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribbon.
By Mercutio,
in Romeo and Juliet (TLN1455-1458),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
no pulse shallkeep his native progress but surcease. no warmth, no
breath shall testify thou livest. The Roses in thy Lips,
& cheeks shall fade topaly Ashes. the eyes' windows
fall, like Death, when he shuts up the Day of Life.
By Friar Laurence,
in Romeo and Juliet (TLN2391-2396),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
-- puts to him all the Learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of;
which he took, as we do Air, fast as 'twas minister'd.
And in's spring became a Harvest- lived in Court
A Sample to the youngest, to the more mature a Glass, and to the Graver a Child that guids Dotards—
By First Gentleman,
in Cymbeline (TLN52-59),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
None here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad: he would have all as merry As (first) good Company, good Wine,
Good Welcome can make good people.
By Guildford,
in Henry VIII (TLN669-673),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 90
There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a Brazier by his
Face; for for, o' my conscience 20 of the Dog- days now reign in’s Nose
All that stand about him, are under the Line. they need no other penance,
that Firedrake, did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there like a Mortar-piece
By Man,
in Henry VIII (TLN3298-3305),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 90
A picture|
How this Grace speaks his own standing!
What a mental power This eye shoots forth! How big
Imagination Moves in the hip! To the Dumbness of the
gesture One might interpret.
By Poet,
in Timon of Athens (TLN44-52),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 90
--he plunged thyself in general Riot, melted down thy
youth in different beds of Lust, & never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow’d the sugar'd Game before thee.
By Timon,
in Timon of Athens (TLN1882-1886),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 91
Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. Would thou wouldst burst! Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Beast! Slave! Toad!
By Apemantus,
in Timon of Athens (2005-2013),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 91
He's speaking now, Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?' For so he calls me: now I feed myself With most delicious poison. Think on me, That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; There would he anchor his aspect and die With looking on his life.
By Cleopatra,
in Antony and Cleopatra (TLN551-561),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 91
That youth & Observoñn/abbr>observation copied there, & thy commandment all alone shall live With in the book, & volume of my Brain, unmixed with baser matter. --
By Hamlet,
in Hamlet (TLN786-789),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
But as we often see against some storm, a silence
in the Heavens the Rack stand still, The bold winds speechless & the orb below As hush as Death, anon the dreadful
thunder doth rend the region; so after Pyrrhus' pause A roused vengeance sets him new a-work
By First Player,
in Hamlet (TLN1523-1528),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat, As deep as to the lungs?
By Hamlet,
in Hamlet (TLN1611-1615),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
That blurs the grace, & blush of modesty, Calls virtue
hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of
an innocent Love, And sets a Blister there makes
Marriage-Vows As false as Dicers Oaths.
By Hamlet,
in Hamlet (TLN2424-2428),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
F. Martin This guest of summer, the temple-haunting Barlet does approve, by his lov'd Masonry that the Heavens breath smells wooingly here: no jutty frieze, buttress, nor coin of vantage, but this birdhath made his pendent Bed
& where they must breed, and haunt.
By Banquo,
in Macbeth (TLN437-444),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 94
Such smiling Rogues as these Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a-twain, which are t'intrince t'unloose, smooth every Passion That in the
Natures of their Lords rebel; being oil to Fire, Snow
to the colder moods. Revenge, affirm, & turn their Halcyon - beaks with
every gall and vary of their masters, knowing naught, like dogs but following.
By Kent,
in King Lear (TLN1146-1153),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 95
he refused it the Rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped
hands, and threw up their sweaty nightcaps, & uttered such a
deal of stinking breath
By ,
in not in source (TLN348-351),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 95
That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that, which melteth Fools, I mean sweet
Words, Low crooked curt'sies, & base Spaniel-fawning.
By ,
in not in source (TLN1248-1250),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 96
Anth. of Lepidus
/ Though we lay these Honours on this Man to
Ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, He shall but bear them, as the Ass bears Gold, To
groan, & sweat under the business, Either led, or driven, as
we point the Way. When he hath brought our Treasure
where we will, Then take we down his Load, & turn
him off, Like to the empty Ass, to shake his Ears &
graze in Commons. /
By Antony,
in Julius Caesar (TLN1875-1880),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 96
You are no surer, no, than is the Coal of Fire upon the Ice, or Hailstones in
the Sun: Your virtue is To make him worthy whose offence subdues him And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims
with fins of Lead, & hews down oaks with rushes
By Martius,
in Coriolanus (TLN184-192),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 96
Ambitious for poor knaves caps, & Legs.
You wear out a good wholesome Forenoon in hearing
a Cause between an Orange-wife & a fosset -seller,
& then rejourn the Controversy of of three-pence to a second day of Audience.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN964-968),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the
wagging of y our Beards. & your Beards deserve
not so honourable a grave, as to stuff a Botcher's Cushion,
or to be entombed in an Asse's packsaddle
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN981-984),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
It gives me an Estate of seven year's health; in which
time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and to this preservative
of no better Report, than a horse -drench.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN1111-1115),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
In human Action, & Capacity of
no more soul, nor fitness for the World, than Camels
in the War, who have their provand, only for bearing
burdens, & sore Blows for sinking under them.
By Brutus,
in Julius Caesar (TLN1176-1180),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
His Nr&235;Nature is too noble for the World. He would not
flatter Neptune for his Trident, or Jove for's
power to Thunder. His Heart's his Mouth; what
his breast forges, that his Tongue must vent.
And being angry does forget that ever he heard
the Name of Death.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN1983-1988),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 98
The fire i'th'lowest Hell fold in the people!. Call me their Traitor, thou injurious Tribune?
with in thine Eyes sat twenty thousand Deaths, In thy hands
clutched as many Millions, in Thy lying Tongue
both Numbers; I would say Thou liest unto thee, with a voice
as free, As I do pray the gods.
By Coriolanus,
in Coriolanus (TLN2348-2354),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 98
I do love my country's good with a respect more tender
more holy, & profound, than my own Life, My dear
wife's Estimate, Her wombs increase, the Treasure
of my Loins--
By Cominus,
in Coriolanus (TLN2397-2401),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 98
The Tartness of his Face sours ripe grapes. when
he walks, he moves like an Engine, & the Ground
shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce
a corslet with his Eye: talks like a Knell; & his -
hum is a Battery. He sits in his State as a
thing made for Alexander.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN3586-3591),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 99
Diana's
Foresters. Gentlemen of the Shade. Minions of the Moon, and let men say we be men of good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon,
under who's countenance they steal.
By Falstaff,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN139-142),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 99
He is as tedious as a tired Horse; a railing Wife;
Worse than a smoky House. I'd rather Live with
Cheese, & garlic in a Windmill far than feed on Cates
& have him talk to me in any summer house in Christendom
By Hotspur,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN1690-1695),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 100
the whiteness in thy cheek is, apter than thy tongue to tell thy Errand.
Even such a Man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, drew priams Curtain in the dead
of night, and would have told him half his Troy was burnt.
By Northumberland,
in Richard II (TLN128-132),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 100
N ever any of these demure boys come to any proof. for thin drink so over-cool their blood, and making many fish meals, that they fall into a kind of Male Greensickness and then, when they marry they get Wenches. They are generally fools, and cowards
By Falstaff,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN2327-2332),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 101
And whatsoever cunning fiend, it was that Wrought upon thee so, preposterously Hath
got the Voice in Hell for Excellence: And other devils that suggest by treasons do botch, & bungle
up Damnation with patches, col our s, and with forms being fetched from glist'ring semblances of piety. But he that tempered thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
By Prince Hal,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN740-749),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 101
-- Ill-favoredly become the morning field. Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host:
By Grandpre,
in Henry V (Q1) (TLN2212-2215),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 102
If thou canst love a fellow of this temper Kate, whose Face is not worth
sun burning; that never looks in his glass for Love of
any thing he sees there let thine eye be thy cook; I speak to thee plain
soldier) If thou canst love me for this Take me.
By Prince Hal,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN3135-3140),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 102
A speaker is but a prater, a Rhyme but a ballad.
a good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop.
a black beard will turn white. a curled pate will
grow bald. a fair face will wither. a full Eye
will wax hollow: But a good Heart ---
By Prince Hal,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN3148-3151),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 102
I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail Nr&235;Nature with some Bribe, To shrink mine Arm
up like a witherd shrub, To make an envious-
Mountain on my back, Where sits Deformity to
mock my Body, To shape my legs of an unequal size
To disproportion my in every part, like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, That carries no Impression
like the DammDam.
By Gloucester,
in Henry VI, part 2 (TLN1678-1686),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 103
(of Warwick’s fall
Thus yields the Cedar to the Axes Edge, whose Arms gave
shelter to the princely Eagle, Under whose shade the
ramping Lion slept, whose top branch overpeered
Jove’s spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from Winter’s
powerful wind.
By ,
in not in source (TLN2812-2816),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 103
Richard 3d|
The owl shriek'd at thy Birth, an evil sign the night crow
cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; The Raven rook'd her on the chimney’s Top; And
chattering pies in dismal Discord sung; Thy mother
felt more than a mothers pain And yet brought forth
less than a mothers Hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,
By King Henry IV,
in Richard II (TLN3128--3125),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 103
Sleep, sleep, for ever and forgotten too, All but thy Ills: which may
succeeding Time remember, as the seaman does his
marks, to know what to avoid_ May at thy Name all good men start, and bad too; may it prove
Infection to the Air.
By Orbella,
in Aglaura (5(t).2.121-126),
Sir John Suckling
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 111
Such gentle Rape thou actst upon my soul & with
such pleasing violence dost force it still that when it should re
sist, it tamely yields, Making a kind of haste to be
undone: as if the Way to Victory were Loss, &
conquest came by overthrow.
By King,
in Aglaura (1.3.22-27),
Sir John Suckling
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 111
Plays are either bad or good. The Good (if
they do beg) beg to be understood. And in good
Faith, that has a bold a sound, As if a Beggar should
ask 20 pound Men have it not about them.
By Prologue,
in Aglaura (Prologue.3-7),
Sir John Suckling
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 112