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cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me:
:-By my troth, it is no addition to her wit;-nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage:-But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? No: the world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice: by this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.
FAVOURITES COMPARED TO HONEYSUCKLES. Bid ber steal into the pleached bower, Where honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun, Forbid the sun to enter;-like favourites, Made proud by princes, that advance their pride;. Against that power that bred it.
A SCORNFUL AND SATIRICAL BEAUTY. Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprisingt what they look on; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featurd,. But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced, She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister: If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed: If low, an agate very vilely cut: If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind: If silent, why a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
0, what authority and show of truth
Griev'd I, I had but one?
I have mark'd A thousand blushing apparitions start Into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;. And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth. • Lascivious. † Disposition of things. Sullied.
I know not: If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honours The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor
my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them thoroughly. THE DESIRE OF BELOVED OBJECTS HEIGHTENED BY
THEIR LOSS. For it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles* we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rackf the value; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours:--So will it fare with Claudio: When he shall hear she died upon his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell?d in more precious habit, More moving-delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she livid indeed.
TALKING BRAGGARTS. But manhood is melted into courtesies, 9 valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it.
pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless While. + Over-rate. | By.
As water in a seive; give not me counsel;
SATIRE ON THE STOIC PHILOSOPHERS.
Hold you content: What man! I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple; Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-mong’ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, Go antickly, and show outward'hideousness,
And speak of half a dozen dangerous words,
VILLAIN TO BE NOTED.
Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes; That when I note another man like him, may
The wolves have preyed: and look, the gentle day,
HOUNDS. THY hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook: And Cytherea all in sedges hid; Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind.
WOMAN'S TONGUE. Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea, puffd up with winds, Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heav'ns artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpet's clang?