Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloor; Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.-Id. Amiens. As man's ingratitude; Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Though thou the waters warp, As friend remember'd not.-Id. Touchstone. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Corin. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:-That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the That he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touchstone. Such a one is a natural philosopher.-Act 3, Sc. 2. Rosalind. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. sun: -Id. Rosalind. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, foorsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancymonger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orlando. I am he that is so loveshaked; I pray you tell me your remedy. Rosalind. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orlando. What were his marks? Rosalind. A lean cheek; which you have not a blue eye and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit ; which you have not: a beard neglected; which you have not: Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orlando. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Rosalind. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences.-Id. Phebe. Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?--Sc. 5. Rosalind. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent:-What would you say to me now, an I were your very Rosalind? Orlando. I would kiss, before I spoke. Rosalind. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. Orlando. How if the kiss be denied. Rosalind. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.-Act. 4. Sc. 1. Rosalind. Am not I your Rosalind ? Orlando. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Rosalind. Well, in her person, I say-I will not have you. Orlando. Then, in mine own person, I die. Rosalind. No, 'faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was -Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.-Id. Rosalind. O! coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love. But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.-That blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love.-Id. Rosalind. . . . Did he leave him there, Food to the sucked and hungry lioness? Oliver. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; But kindness nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him.-Sc. 3. Touchstone. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for :Art thou wise? William. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touchstone. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.-You do love this maid ? William. I do, sir. Touchstone. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ? Touchstone. Then learn this of me: To have, is to have; For it is a figure in rhetorick, that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: for all your writers do consent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I am he. William. Which he, sir? Touchstone. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,-which is in the vulgar, leave, the society, which in the boorish is, company,-of this female,— which in the common is, woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart.-Act 5. Sc. 1. Touchstone. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: This is called the Retort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment; This is called the Reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: This is called the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie: This is called the Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie circumstantial, and the Lie direct.-Sc. 4. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Countess. Love all, trust a few . . . Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence King. ... "Let me not live," quoth he, "After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff King. All that is virtuous (save what thou dislik'st, From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, Is good; without a name, vileness is so : Where dust and damned oblivion is the tomb Clown. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. Countess. By what observance I pray you? Clown. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song.-Act 3. Sc. 2. Diana. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth: But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.-Act. 4. Sc. 2. Parolles. who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, That every braggart shall be found an ass.-Sc. 3. Lafeu. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour:-Sc. 5. King. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees, Steals ere we can effect them.-Act 5, Sc. 3. Servant. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Induction. Sc. 2. Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.— Tranio. No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en.-Act 1. Se. 1. Hortensio. There be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them.-Id. Tranio. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how her sister Began to scold; and raise up such a storm, That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? Hortensio. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? (TO BIANCA. HORTENSIO retires.) Lucentio. That will be never!-tune your instrument. Lucentio. Here, madam : Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus ; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. Bianca. Construe them. Lucentio. Hac ibat, as I told you before-Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa,-Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love;-Hic steterat, and that |