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Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might he fet abroach,
In shadow of such greatness !

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 2.

The abuse of greatnefs is, when it disjoins

Remorfe from power: and, to speak truth of Cæsar, I have not known when his affections fway'd

More than his reason.

Julius Cæfar, A. 2, S. 1.

eyes

O place and greatness, millions of falfe
Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report
Run with these falfe and moft contrarious quests
Upon thy doings! thoufand 'fcapes of wit

Make thee the father of their idle dream,

And rack thee in their fancies!

Meafure for Measure, A. 4, S. 1.
Believe this,

No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed fword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half fo good a grace,

As mercy does. Measure for Measure, A. 2, S. 2.

Nay then, farewell!

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian, of my glory,

I hafte now to my fetting: I fhall fall

Like a bright exhalation in the evening,

And no man fee me more. Henry VIII. A. 3, S. 2.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a froft, a killing froft,
And, when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. Henry VIII. A. 3, S. 2.

:.

Who

Who deferves greatness,

Deferves your hate and your affections are
A fick man's appetite, who defires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, fwims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes.

Coriolanus, A. 1, S. 1.

Things fmall as nothing, for requests fake only,
He makes important: poffeft he is with greatness,
And fpeaks not to himfelf, but with a pride
That quarrels at self breath.

Troilus and Creffida, A. 2, S. 3.

'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Muft fall out with men too: What the declin'd is, He fhall as foon read in the eyes of others,

As feel in his own fall.

Troilus and Creffida, A. 3, S. 3.

So much is my poverty of spirit,

So mighty, and fo many, my defects,

That I would rather hide me from my greatness,
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,

And in the vapour of my glory fmother'd.

Richard III. A. 3, S. 7.

Do you hear how we are fhent' for keeping your

greatnefs back?

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Every one can mafter a grief, but he that has it. Much ado about nothing, A. 3, S. 2.

how we are fhent.] Shent is brought to deftruction.

JOHNSON.

"Shent" does not mean brought to deftruction, but shamed, dif

graced, made afbamed of himself.

"Shent," in this place, is reproved, blamed.

PERCY.

A. B.

Being

Being that I flow in grief,

The smallest twine may lead me.

Much ado about nothing, A. 4, S. 1.

Grief boundeth where it falls,

Not with the empty hollownefs, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun;
For forrow ends not, when it feemeth done.

Richard II. A. 1, S. 2.

Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form: fo your fweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Find fhapes of grief, more than himself to wail.

Richard II. A, 2, S. 2.

Oh, that I were as great

As is my grief, or leffer than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been!
Or not remember what I must be now!

Richard II. A. 3, S. 3.

Still my griefs are mine.

You may my glories and my ftate depofe,

But not my griefs; ftill am I king of those.

Richard II. A. 4, S. 1.

My grief lies all within;

And these external manners of lament

Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,

That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul.

Richard II. A. 4, S. 1.

Ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,

Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And fend the hearers weeping to their beds.

Richard II. A. 5, S. 1.

Thou, the model where old Troy did stand
Thou map of honour; thou most beauteous inn,

Why

Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an ale-house guest?

Richard II. A. 5, S. 1.

My grief.

Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;

The blood weeps from my heart, when I do fhape,
In forms imaginary, the unguided days,
And rotten times, that you fhall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors..

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 4.

As the wretch, whofe fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms: even fo my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themfelves. Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 1.
I have in equal balance juftly weigh'd

What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we fuffer,

And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We fee which way the stream of time doth run,
And are enforc'd from our most quiet fphere,
By the rough torrent of occafion.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 1.

-I fent your grace

The parcels and particulars of our grief;

The which hath been with fcorn fhov'd from the

court,

Whereon this hydra fon of war is born:

Whofe dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep, With grant of our most juft and right defires.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 2.

When your head did but ake,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,

Still

Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, what lack you? and, where lies your grief?
King John, A. 4, S. 1.

Grief fills the room up of my abfent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reafon to be fond of grief.

King John, A. 3, S. 4.

Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd cardinal;
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reafon
How I may be deliver'd of these woes.

King John, A. 3, S. 44

I am not mad;-I would to heaven, I were!
For then 'tis like I fhould forget myself:
Oh, if I could, what grief fhould I forget!

King John, A. 3, S. 4 My grief's fo great,

That no fupporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and forrows fit;

Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

King John, A. 3, S. 1.

I will inftruct my forrows to be proud :

For grief is proud, and makes his owner ftout;
To me, and to the ftate of my great grief,

Let kings affemble.

King John, A. 3, S. 1.

'Tis better to be lowly born,

And range with humble livers in content,

Than to be perk'd up in a gliftering grief,

And wear a golden forrow. Henry VIII. A. 2, S. 3. These eyes-like lamps whose wafting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent:

Weak shoulders, over-borne with burthening grief,

And

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