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arms art thou Bard Bardolph blood Boling Bolingbroke brother captain Colevile cousin Crown Dauphin dead death dost doth Dowglas Duke Duke of Burgundy Earl England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Falstaff farewel father fear fight foul France French friends Gaunt give Glou Grace grief hand Harfleur Harry hath hear heart heav'n honour horse Host John of Gaunt King Henry Lady Liege live look lord lord of Westmorland Majesty master morrow Mortimer Mowb ne'er never night noble Northumberland Oxford Editor peace Percy Pist Pistol Poins pow'r pray Prince Pucel Queen Reignier Rich Richard Plantagenet S C E N E SCENE Shal shew Sir John Sir John Falstaff soldiers Somerset speak sweet sword Talbot tell thee thine thou art thou hast tongue uncle unto Vulg Westmorland wilt word York
Page 117 - By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; So he that doth redeem her thence might wear Without corrival all her dignities : But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! Wor.
Page 187 - 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.
Page 392 - By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires; But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Page 52 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Page 411 - Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in: As, by a lower but loving likelihood, Were now the general of our gracious empress, As in good time he may, from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him!
Page 281 - He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity...
Page 249 - O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Page 187 - 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 252 - 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.