Chapter 13
Act ii. Sc. 2.
But man, proud man!
Drest in a little brief authority,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven As make the angels weep.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot.
Act iv. Sc. 1.
Take, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain.[1]
[Note 1: This song; is found in "The b.l.o.o.d.y Brother, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy," by Beaumont and Fletcher, Act 5, Sc. 2, with the following additional stanza:
"Hide, O hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the fruits that grow Are of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free.
Bound in those icy chains for thee."
There has been much controversy about the authors.h.i.+p, but the more probable opinion seems to be that the second stanza was added by Fletcher.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act i. Sc. 1.
He hath indeed better bettered expectation.
Act ii. Sc. 1.
Friends.h.i.+p is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love.
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no other agent.
Act ii. Sc. 1.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy; I were but little happy, if I could say how much.
Act ii. Sc. 3.
Sits the wind in that corner?
Act ii. Sc. 3.
When I said I should die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
Some, Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Everyone can master a grief, but he that Lath it.
Act iii. Sc. 3.
Are you good men and true?
Act iii. Sc. 3.
Is most tolerable, and not to be endured.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Comparisons are odorous.
Act iv. Sc. 2.
O that he were here to write me down--an a.s.s!
Act iv. Sc. 2.
A fellow that had losses.