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againft anfwer Anne art thou Bard Bardolph BENVOLIO better Caius CAPULET coufin dead death defire doft Doll doth Enter Exeunt Exit fack faid Falftaff Farewel father fent feven fhall fhalt fhew fhould fir John firft flain fleep fome foul fpeak fpirit friar Friar LAWRENCE ftand fuch fure fwear fweet fword gentleman give Harry hath hear heart heaven Henry Herne the hunter himfelf Hoft Hojl honeft honour horfe houfe hufband humour Jack Jujl Juliet king knave lady lord mafter Brook mall Mantua marry Mercutio miftrefs Ford moft mould muft myfelf never night Northumberland Nurfe peace Percy Poins pray prefent prifoners prince prince of Wales rafcal reafon reft Romeo SCENE Shal Shallow Slen tell thee thefe there's thofe thou art thoufand Tybalt Weft Wejl whofe wife worfe yourfelf
Page 50 - 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.
Page 89 - 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 105 - I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester!
Page 67 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out...
Page 89 - 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 31 - The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Page 21 - True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Page 14 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
Page 89 - 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.