upō ye edges of my enemies swords I’ve mcht like whirl= winds, fury at this handwaiting, Death at my right, Fortune
my forlorne hope, wn I have grapled wth destruction, & tug’d
wth pale fac’t ruine, night, & mischiefe frighted to see a
new day breake in blood.
By ,
in not in source (1.1.68-74),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
His life is to fight, & swagger, Beaten about ye ears wth bawling
sheepskins, cut to ye soule for soer, here an arm lost &
there a leg, his hoble head seal’d up in salves, & searcloths,
like a packet & so sent ov to an hospitall. & all this sport for
cheese, & chines of dogs flesh, & mony wn 2 wednesdayes meet
together.
By Fool,
in The Mad Lover (1.2.320-328),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
– this fellow wth all his frights about him
& his furies, his larms, & his lances, Nay case him up in armor
cap-a- pea, yet I durst undtake r.
By ,
in not in source (1.2.46-51),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 2
4.
– if I studied ye countries laws I shd so easily sound all
yr depth, & rise up such a wonder, yt ye pleaders yt now are
in most practice, & esteem shd starve for want of clients. If I
traveld like wise Ulysses to see men, & manns, I would returne
in act more knowing yn Hom ^ere could fancy him. If a physitian
so oft I would restore death-wounded men, That where I li’vd
Galen shd not be nam’d, & he yt joynd again ye scattd limbs Of
torn Hippolita shd be forgotten. I could teach Ovid courtship. how
to win A Julia, & enjoy her, tho her dower were all ye Sun gives
light to. And for arms, were ye Persian hoast yt drank up rivs
added to ye Turks psent power, I could coon, & marshall ym
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 cleane. My lips were lockt upō me. I nev before saw a face but I was able boldly to encount it, & speak my mind; This is divine & only servd wth revnce
By ,
in not in source (2.4.76-80),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 5
You keep a prating of y or points of manns, & fill my head
wth lowsy circumstances, bett have ballets in’t. Yr courtly
worship how to put of my hat, you how to turne 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 ye courage they exprst being taken, & ye contemt of death
won more upō me yn all they did being free. me thinks I
see ym yet wn they were brought aboard us disarmd & ready
to be putt in fetts How on ye suddain as if they had sworne
nev to tast ye bread of servitutde Both snatchḡ up yr swords
& frō this Virgin Takḡ a farewell only wth yr eyes They leapt
into ye sea --
By Leopold,
in The Custom of the Country (2.2.9-18),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 11
& wth such strength & cunning, they swim ming did delude ye rising billows, wth one hand making way
& wth ye other yr bloody swords advanc’t, threatng ye seagods
wth war, unlesse they brought ym safely of yt 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
The issues they beare things like ourselves vaine bubbles, breaths of ayre,
got wth an itching, as blists are sorrow conceives & shapes
ym. & oftentimes ye death of those wee love most brings ym into
ye 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 & expience an asse they
alter so. They grow. & ere wee can turn or thoughts, like drops of
wat, fall into ye maine, & are knowne noe more. This is ye love
of this world.
By Memnon,
in The Mad Lover (#2.1.167-71),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
I love you. Not for yor beauty. Tho I confesse it blowes
ye first fire in us. time as he passes by puts out yt sparckle
Not for y or wealth altho ye world kneele to it, Fortune yt
ruines all, makes yt his conquest. Be honest & be vertuous
I'le admire you
By ,
in not in source (3.2.139-145),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 12
From Harpies nailes & Furies whips, From all sharp noses
& thin lips Frō 2legd catts wth thrice nine lives fro scal= d wort, Frō scoldḡ wive - & My Genius blesse, my starrs ꝑtect me
--
By Comodus,
in The Virgin Widow (1.4.29-34),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 13
A lady may weare him next her heart, & yet not warms him. His mind ( poore man)’s o’th’
law, & not on lewdness. On my conscience he knows not how to
look upō a woman more yn by read̄ wt 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
ye but these 2 arms. no trickmts but my tears Ov thy hearse my
sorrows like sad arms shall hand for ev On ye toughest marble
my eyes shall weep ye 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. Ent a mask of beasts.
This lion was a man of war yt dyd
to guild his ladies pride. This dog a foole yt hung hims. for
love. This ape wth daily hugging of a glove forgot to eat
& dy’d. This goodly tree An usher yt still grew before his
Lady witherd at root. This, for he could not wooe, a grumbl̄
Lawyer. This py’d bird a page, yt melted out bec. he
wanted age.
By Orpheus,
in The Mad Lover (78-86),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 21
– 3
yor psents. courtship, yt s too good a
name, yor slavelike sevices yor morn̄ musick, yor walking
3 howers in ye raine at midnight To see her at her window,
sometimes laught at, sometimes admitted, & vouchsaf’d to
kisse her glove, her skirt, nay I’ve heard her slippers. How yn
you triumpht?
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 yor new ceruz’d face, You are ye proudest th. & have ye least reason to be soe, yt I ev read of. In stature
you are a giantess, & yor tailor takes measure of you wth a
Jacobs staffe, or he can nev reach you. For yor complexion, you
are so farre frō faire, I doubt yor mother was too familiar
wth ye Moore yt serv’d her. Y or limbs, & features I pass breifely
ov, as thr not worth description, & come roundly to your Soule
if you have any. for ‘tis doubtfull.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (4.1.32-46),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 23
This soule (or rather salt,
to keep this heap of flesh frō being a walking stench) like a
large Inne stands open for ye enttainment of all impious practi ses, but there’s no corn 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 gett upō my great horse, & appeare ye signe of such a man
& trott my measures, or fiddle out whole frosty nights under ye
window, while my teeth keep tune, I hold no handsomenesse.
By ,
in not in source (2.1.22-6),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 25
-- joyn farm to farm, suffer no LoP yt in a cleare day Falls
in ye prospect of yor covetous ey to be anothers. take use
upon use, & cutt ye throats of hayres wth cozening Mortgages
rack yor poore tenants, till they look like so many skeletons
for want of food: And wn yt widdows curses ye ruines of ancient
families, tears of Orphans Have hurried you to ye devill, yor heyr will dance merrily upō yor grave, ꝑhaps give a double
pistolet to some poore needy fryer to say a mass to keepe
y or ghost frō walking.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (1.1.197-211),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 27
Then could you find a loophole to look out you’d see ransack y or iron chests. & once again
Pluto’s flamecolord daughter shall be free to domineer in
Taverns, masks, & revells, as she was us’d before she was
y or captive.
By Don Jamie,
in The Spanish Curate (1.1.214-19),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 27
--at home liv’d like a camelion, suckt ye aire of misery, & grew
fat by ye brewis of an Egshell. would smell a cooksshop, & goe
home, & surfet, & be a month in fasting out yt fev.
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’d parallel Old Arg9 to him you
must multiply his eyes a 100 times. of these none sleepe.
He yt would charme ye heaviest lidd must hire a better
Mercury yn 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
– He thus lessons his wife;
a retir’d sweet life, Private, & close, & still, & housewifely
becomes a wife, sets of ye grace of woman. At home to be
beleev’d both young. & handsome, As lillies yt are cas’d in chry= stall glasses, Makes up ye wonder: shew it abroad, ‘tis stale. &
still ye more eyes cheapen it, ‘tis more slubberd. And wt need
windows open to inviting? or evening Tarrases to take opi nions? wn ye most wholsome aire blows inwards, wn good thoughts
are yn noblest companions, & old chast stories ye 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 wth one hand prop a falling tower or wth the
other stop ye raging maine wn it breaks in on ye usurped
shore, or any th. ] yt is imposs? then conclude yt 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
– In Spain they eat noth. but herbs &
get noth. but greene sawce. Some pore labourers ꝑhaps
once in 7 yeare wth helping one another produce some
few pin’d butt prints, yt scarce hold ye christ’ning neither.
By Diego,
in The Spanish Curate (2.1.66-70),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 31
It would be req= site I shd deck my Language wth tropes, & figures, & all flou- rishes yt grace a Rhetorician. Adultate metals need ye gold= smith’s art to set em of. wt in its. is ꝑfect contemns a bor= rowed glosse.
By Bartolus,
in The Spanish Curate (3.3.70-75),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 34
a lawyer yt entangles all
mens honesties. & lives like a spider in a cobweb lurking, &
catching at all flies yt passe his pittfalls. 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
yt daring vice for wch ye whole age suffers. The blood or bold
youth yt heeretofore was spent in hoble action Or to defend or
to enlarge ye kingd.. Poures its. out wth Odd p abbreviation: check MUFI pdigall expence upō or
mothers lap ye earth, yt bred us, for evy 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
yt some of or late Ks (of France Sr) For ye wearing of a Mistris
feathers, a cheat at cards, or dice Have lost as many gallt gentle
men, as might have mett ye great Turk in ye feild, wth 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
4.
Hee’s a name onely. & all good in him He must derive frō
his great grandsires ashes. For had not yr victorious acts be-
queath’d His titles to him, & wrot on his forehead This is a
Ld, he had liv’d unobserv’d By any man of mark, & dyed as
one Among ye coon 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, wn we can goe to rest wth out a larum Given evy mintue to a guiltsick consc.. To keep
us wakḡ, & rise in ye mornḡ secure in being iocent; but
wn yn the remembr. of or worser actions we ev bear about us whips,
& furies To make ye day a night of sorrow to us Even life’s a
burthen .----
By Doctor,
in The Custom of the Country (4.1.6-14),
Francis Beaumont
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 48
– a fleshd
ruffian, who hath so often taken ye strappado, yt tis to him but
as a lofty trick Is to a tumbler. he hath perus’d too all
dungeons in ye kingd.. thrice 7 yeares row’d in ye gallies
for 3 sevall murthers. & scapt unpunisht for a 100.
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 upō a man of fortunes. one yt deserves to take up
life at intest, & to buy his languishmt at a profuse rate how
will they prolong ye 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
-- this wth ye help of a gold nightcap a few conjuring
words, & a large consc. will go far & sett me up in a market towne
where I may pass for a Padua Dr. ‘Tis but Italianatḡ my
name, garb, language, habit. Seignor Quackꝗnto. &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 thunđbolt, Or twi-forkt light= nḡ frō the hand of Jove: Bid me go stop ye flowing tides,
Or stay A singing bullet in ye middle way. Bid me goe
tame a dragon &c This were an easy task; nay easier
farre To slack hells falmes, yn quench Marina’s rage.
By Comodus,
in The Virgin Widow (1.4.64-70),
Francis Quarles
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 54
Who make a child now swadled to
proceed Man, & then shoot up in one beard, & weed
past 60 years: Or with 3 rusty swords, And help
of some few foot & half foot words Fight over
York & Lanc.rs long Wars, And in ye 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
No Chorus wafts you
ore ye seas, Nor creakḡ Throne comes down the
Boies to please; Nor nimble sqb is seen, to make
afeard the Gentlewomen; nor rolld 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
Would I ever have my picture drawn, the painter should steal it, when wn I were devoutly kneelḡ at my praiers:
There then a heavenly Beauty in the face: 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
Ignoramus shall wear his spatious Inkhorn all a
vacatiŏ, only to c u re tetters: & his penknife to
weed corns fro ye splay toes of ye right worfull
By ,
in not in source (4.1.33, 51-54),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
were all ye Houses in ye town prisons, ye chambers
cages, all ye settles stocks, ye broad Gates Gallowses
& ye whole people Justices, Juries, Constables
I’d practise in spight of all_
By Ronca,
in Albumazar: A Comedy (TLN83-87),
Thomas Tomkis
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 70
So wise, qu. he had Eat nothing but brains & marrow
of Machiavell: tips his speech with Ital. motti; spanish
Refranes & English Quoth-Hees. Beleeve me, not a
a provb falts yor 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 could find no room for me in all yr Kalendar; let every pety martyr take place of me; Roch, Maies, & Pecronell, Itch - & _ Ague – Curer; ye wid. Marcel, parson polycarp, Cicely, & Urslie; & but for ye Bissextile (wn I fall by chance into ye 29 of Febr.) there were no place for me See yr love & Consc.
to thrust 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
Impudent! For thy sake at this Minute modesty suf
fers all yt 's vertuous, blushes; & Truth like ye sun
vext wth a Mist, looks red wth Anger.
By ,
in not in source (2.2.143-147),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 72
No Ceremony, yt belongs to great Ones 'longs, Not ye Kings
crown, nor yet ye Deputie’s sword, The Marshals Trun= =cheon, nor ye Judges robe Become them wth one half
so good a Grace, As Mercy dothdoes. –
By Isabella,
in Measure for Measure (TLN809-813),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 75
Charity fro a puritan? I’ll soon expect mcy fro an usurer, when my Bond’s forfeited; kindn fro a Lawyer, wn my money’s spent. I look for Relief from him, wn Lucifer is restor’d to his bloud, & in Heav. again.
By Captain Idle,
in The Puritan Widow (TLN444-449),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
Where ere Aurora, Handmaid of ye sun, Where Ere
ye sun, bright Guardian of ye day, wth cheerf. light
illuminates ye world, The Trojans Glorie flies
wth Golden wings
By Corin,
in Locrine (TLN88-92),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
As true as steel, as Turtle to her Mate, As Iron to
Adamant, as Earth to th’Center: And after all
comparisons of Truth, wn poëts Rhimes full of ptest & oth WantSsimiles (Truth tir’d with Iteration) As ture as Troilus shall crown up ye Verse)
& sanctify ye numbers.
By Troilus,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN1810-1816),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 78
-a falshearted rogue. I’ll no more trust him, when
he leers, yn I will a serpt wn he hisses. will spend his
mouth in promises but when he pforms, Astronomers
say it, tis pdigious. there will come some change. The
Sun borrows of ye moon, wn N. keeps his Word
By Thersites,
in Troilus and Cressida (TLN2963-2967),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 79
Excellt fair! If G. did All R.
Tis in grain, Sr, ’Twill
Endure Wind & weather!
Tis Beauty truly blent, who
’s red & white Nre’s own sweet & cunn hand laid on.
By ,
in not in source (TLN529-531),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 79
Here’s a large Mouth indeed, yt spits forth wounds, & Death. – talks as familiarly of roarg Lions As childr.
do of puppie -dogs. Wt canonier begot this lusty
blood? He nothg speaks but fire, & smoke he gives ye Bastinado wth his tongue. Others are cudgeld.
--not a word of his, but buffets in: - I was nev so
bethumpt wth words.
By Bastard,
in King John (TLN773-779),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 81
Consc. buckled his Armor & Zeal & Charity brought him to ye field, as Gods own soldier – But yt sly devil yt bawd yt broker, purpose-changer, that smoothfaced Gentleman,, ye Bias of ye world, clapt on him hath drawn him frō his purpose.
By Bastard,
in King John (TLN885-905),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 82
Death, Death ô amiable, lovely Death, the hate &
terror to prospity, But miseries Love; Rise from the Caves of Night, And I will kiss thy bones, I’ll put
my Eybals in thy vaulty Brows, & ring my fingers
wth 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
No man so pfect but shee’ll s’pell him backward. If
fair, she swears the Gent. shd be her sister. If black;-
Nre in drawing an Antick made a foul blott; If
tall, a Lance illheaded; If low, an Agat very vildly
cut; If talkative a Vane blown wth all winds, If si= lent, why a Block moved wth none: So turns she evy
M. ye wrong side out.
By Hero,
in Much Ado About Nothing (TLN1149-1158),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 83
y or Argosies wth portly sail like seignis, or rich
Burgers on ye flood, or like ye stately pageants of ye Sea
Do over looke ye petty traffiquers, Wch curtsie to them, & do
revence, while they fly by ȳ wth yr woven Wings
By Salarino,
in The Merchant of Venice (TLN12-17),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 84
He quareld wth one for coughing in ye street & wa= =king his dog, yt lay asleep in ye sun: fell out wth
another for wearḡ his new doublet before Easter,
& tying his new shoes wth old ribband.
By Mercutio,
in Romeo and Juliet (TLN1455-1458),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
The pulse keeps not its native pgress. no warmth, no
breath doth testify she lives. The Roses in her Lips,
& cheeks do fade into pale Ashes. ye Eys windows
fall, like Death, wn he shuts up ye Day of Life.
By Friar Laurence,
in Romeo and Juliet (TLN2391-2396),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
-- put him to all ye Learnḡs his time was capable of;
wch he took, as we take Air, fast as ’tis ministered.
And in his spring became a Harvest- liv’d in Court
A Sample to ye young, to th’most mature a Glass,
to ye Graver a Child yt guids Dotards—
By First Gentleman,
in Cymbeline (TLN52-59),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 88
There’s one, he should be a Brasier by his
Face; for 20 of ye Dog- daies reign now in’s Nose
All yt stand about him, are under ye Line. yt Meteor,
yt Firedrake, 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 speakes his own standing!
Wt a mental power This Ey shoots forth! How big
Imaginoñ Moves in ye hip! To ye 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
But as we often see against some storm, There's silence
in ye Heav ye Rack stands still, The bold Wind's speech= =less & ye orb below As hush as Death: Anon ye dreadf.
Thunder Doth rends ye Air; so after some short pawse
Doth vengeance rowze its.
By First Player,
in Hamlet (TLN1523-1528),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
--cald him Coward, & Villain; broke his pate a-cross; pluckt off his Beard, & blew it in his Face; tweakt him by th'nose; gave him ye Lye i'th’ throat As Deep, as to ye Lungs;
By Hamlet,
in Hamlet (TLN1611-1615),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
This blurrs ye grace, & blush of modesty, Calls Vertue
Hypocrit, takes off the Rose From your faire forehead of
an iñocent Love, And plants a Blister there makes
Marriage-Vows As fals as Dicers Oaths.
By Hamlet,
in Hamlet (TLN2424-2428),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 93
F. Martin
The guest of summ, the temple-haunting Barlet
wth his lov'd Masonry makes here his pendent Bed
& procreant Cradle, & here both haunts, & breed.
By Banquo,
in Macbeth (TLN437-444),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 94
Such smiling Rogues as this, smooth evy Passion That in ye
Natures of yr Lds rebell; being oil to Fire, Snow
to the cooler moods. & turn their Halcyon - beaks with
every Gale, like Dogs, know noughts but following.
By Kent,
in King Lear (TLN1146-1153),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 95
Wn he refus'd ye Rabblement howled & clapt yr chopt
hands, threw up yr sweaty nightcaps, & utterd such a
deal of stinkḡ breath yt Cesar swoon'd
By ,
in not in source (TLN348-351),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 95
Anth. of Lepidus
/ Tho we lay Hons on this Man to
Ease oss, He shall but bear ȳ, as ye Ass bears Gold, To
groan, & sweat unð ye Busines, Or led, or driven, as
we print ye Way. Wn he hath brought or Treasure
where we will, Then take we down his Load, & turn
him off, Like to the empty Ass, to shake his Ears &
graze in Coons. /
By Antony,
in Julius Caesar (TLN1875-1880),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 96
Ambitious for poor knaves caps, & Legs.
You wear out a good holesom Forenoon in hearing
a Cause between an Orange-wife & a tripe -seller,
& yn rejourn ye Controvsy of 3d to a 2d Hearing!
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN964-968),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
Wn you speak best to ye purpose, 'tis ō worth the
wagging of y or Beards. & those Beards deserve
not so hoble a grave, as to stuff a Botcher's Cushion,
or to be entombd 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 7 year's health; in wch
time I'll make a lip at ye physitian: ye most so= verain prscription in Galen is to the prservative
of no better Report, yn a Hors -drench.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN1111-1115),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 97
His Nr&235;Nature is too noble for yt World. He would ō
flatter Neptun for his Trident, or Jove for's
power to Thunder. His Heart's his Mouth; wt
his Brest forges, yt his Tongue must vent.
And being angry doth forget yt ev he heard
ye 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 this Rabble.
Cal'st thou me Traitor, thou injurious Tribune?
wth in thy Eyes sate 20000 Deaths, In thy hands
clutcht as many Millions, in Thy lying Tongue
both Numbers; I'd say Thou lyest, wth a voice
as free, As I do pray ye gods.
By Coriolanus,
in Coriolanus (TLN2348-2354),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 98
The Tartness of his Face sours ripe grapes. wn
he walks, he moves like an Engine, & the Ground
shrinks before his tread. He is able to pierce
a corslet wth his Eye: talks like a Knell; & his -
hum is a Battery. He sits in his State like a
th made for Alexander.
By Menenius,
in Coriolanus (TLN3586-3591),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 99
He is as tedious as a tir'd Horse; a railing Wife;
Worse yn a smokie House. I'd rather Live wth
Cheese, & Garlick in a Windmill yn feed on Cates
& hear him talk in any palace in Xndom Xndom
By Hotspur,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN1690-1695),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 100
N ev any of these demure Boies come to any ꝑof. Many fish-meals, & thin potations so over cool their Blood, that they fall into a kind of Male Greensickn.
are genally Fools & Cowards & wn they marry they get Wenches.
By Falstaff,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN2327-2332),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 101
The cunning fiend, yt Wrought upō thee so, Hath
got ye Voice in Hell for Excellence: And other De= =vils yt suggest less treasons But botch, & bungle
up Damnation wth patches, col or s, forms of piety And glistring semblances. But he yt temperd thee
made thee do Treason even for Treason's sake.
By Prince Hal,
in Henry IV, part 1 (TLN740-749),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 101
A speaker is but a prater, a Rhyme but a Ballast.
a good leg will fall, a streight back will stoop.
a black beard will turn white. a curld 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
That he might nev deal in her soft laws, He did cor= rupt frail Nr&235;Nature with some Bribe, To shrink his Arm
up like a witherd shrub, To make an envious-
Mountain on his back, Where sits Deformity to
mock his Body, To shape his legs of an unequal size
To dispportion his in evy pt, like to a chaos, or
unlickt Bearswhelp, That carries no Impression
like ye Dam̄.
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 ye Cedar to ye Axes Edge, Who’s Arms gave
shelter to ye princely Eagle, Under Who’s shade the
ramping Lion slept, Who’s top branch overpeerd
Jove’s spreadḡ tree, And kept low shrubs from Winter’s
powerf. wind.
By ,
in not in source (TLN2812-2816),
not in source
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 103
Richard 3d|
The owl shrik’d at his Birth, ye night crow
cry’d, The Raven croak’d upō ye chimney’s Top; And
chattring pies in dismal Discord sung; His mother
felt more yn a mothers pain And yet brought forth
less yn a mothers Hope, A rude, deform’d & indigested Lump,
By King Henry IV,
in Richard II (TLN3128--3125),
William Shakespeare
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 103
Forgotten sleep for ever, All but thine Ills: which may
succeedḡ Time remember, as ye seaman doth his
marks, to know what to avoid_
--at whos Name all good men start, As if it were
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 upo my soul & with
such pleasḡ violence forcest it that wn it shd re
sist, it tamely yields, Making a kind of Hast to be
undone: as if ye 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
Plaies are either bad or good. The Good (if
they do beg) beg to be understood. And in good
Faith, yt has a bold a sound, As if a Beggar shd
ask 20 Men have it not about ym.
By Prologue,
in Aglaura (Prologue.3-7),
Sir John Suckling
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 112