Tempest, A. 1, S. 2.

To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride

On the curl'd clouds.

The mistress, which I ferve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures.

Tempest, A. 3, S. I.

S.

Let us know,

PLOT

Our indiscretion sometime serves us well,

When our deep plots do fail: and that should teach

us,

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will. Hamlet, A. 5, S. 2.

POES Y.

Much is the force of heaven-bred poefy.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3, S. 2.

I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew,
Than one of these fame metre ballad-mongers;
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
And that would nothing fet my teeth on edge,
Nothing fo much as mincing poetry.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 3,

POIS O N.

I fee that thou art poor;

Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison; fuch foon-speeding geer
As will difperfe itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead.

S. 1.

Romeo and Juliet, A. 5, S. 1.
He, that ftrikes

The venifon firft, fhall be the lord o' the feast;
To him the other two fhall minifter;

And

And we will fear no poifon, which attends

In place of greater state.

Cymbeline, A. 3, S. 3.

If there be cords, or knives,

Poison, or fire, or fuffocating streams,
I'll not endure it.-Would, I were satisfied!

Othello, A. 3, S. 3.

I feel my master's paffion! this flave,
Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him:
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment,
When he is turn'd to poison?

Timon of Athens, A. 3, S. 1.

POM P.

This holy fox,

Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous,

As he is fubtle)

Only to fhew his pomp as well in France
As here at home, fuggests the king our master
To this last costly treaty.

Henry VIII. A. 1, S. 1.
Lo, now my glory smear'd in duft and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forfake me; and of all my lands,
Is nothing left me but my body's length!
Why what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and duft?
Henry VI. P. 3, A. 5, S. 2.

I

this flave,

Unto his honour.] What Flaminius feems to mean is,— This flave (to the honour of his character) has, &c.

STEEVENS.

How can the conduct and behaviour of Lucullus be faid, in any way, to redound to his honour? We should furely point

thus:

this flave

"Unto his honour."

i. e. This flave, who is continually talking of honourable actions;-who has always piqued himself on his honour.

A. B.

Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this fhameful yoke?
Trow'ft thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world;
Or count them happy, that enjoy the fun?
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day;
To think upon my pomp, fhall be my hell.

Henry VI. P. 2, A. 2, S. 4.
Take phyfic, pomp:

Expofe thyself to feel what wretches feel;
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And fhew the heavens more juft. Lear, A. 3, S. 4.
Why should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candy'd tongue lick abfurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.

Hamlet, A. 3, S. 2.

PRAISE.

Thou shalt find fhe will out-ftrip all praife,
And make it halt behind her. Tempest, A. 4, S. 1.
He gave you all the duties of a man ;
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;
Spoke your defervings like a chronicle;
Making you ever better than his praise,

By ftill difpraifing praife, valu'd with you.

S. 2.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 5, Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, faft-loft: one cloud of winter fhowers, These flies are couch'd.

Timon of Athens, A. 2, S. 2.

Feaf-won, faft-left.] I do not understand this. I think we fhould read,

"Fast won, fast lost."

i. e. Your friends are fuch as may be easily acquired, and who are easily loft.

A. B.

A giving

A giving hand, though foul, fhall have fair praise,
And, out of question, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 4, S. 1*

Your praife is come too swiftly home before you,
Know you not, master, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve them but as enemies?

As you like it, A. 2, S. 3.

Methinks he is too low for a high praife, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise. Much ado about nothing, A. 1, S. 1.

How many things by feason season'd are
To their right praife, and true perfection?

Merchant of Venice, A. 5, S. 1.

Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applaufe, and univerfal fhout
Giddy in fpirit, ftill gazing, in a doubt
Whether thofe peals of praise be his or no.

Merchant of Venice, A. 3, S. 2.

with true prayers,

That shall be up at heaven, and enter there,

Ere the fun rife.

Meafure for Measure, A. 2, S. 2.

- He cannot thrive,

Unless her prayers,

whom heaven delights to hear,

And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath

Of greatest justice.

All's well that ends well, A. 3, S. 4.

I

PRECEPT.

-.Then I precepts gave her,

That the fhould lock herself from his refort,

Admit no meffengers.

Hamlet, A. 2, S. 2.

PRESENCE.

It ill befeems this prefence, to cry aim
To thefe ill-tuned repetitions 2.

King John, A. 2, S. 1.

PRE Y.

So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:

The two elder
STEEVENS.

And then I precepts gave her.] Thus the folio. quartos read, prefcripts. "Prefcripts" is right-fignifying inhibition, reftraint. That

it is the true reading the context will fully fhew. that he had already obferved to his daughter,

Polonius fays,

"Lord Hamlet is a prince: out of thy sphere-
"This must not be!"

Now this we may confider as a precept, or hint, to Ophelia how the fhould behave. He then goes on,

"And then I prefcripts (or orders) gave her,

"That the fhould lock herself from his refort," &c.

13

2 It ill befeems this prefence, to cry aim

A. B.

To thefe ill-tuned repetitions.] Dr. Warburton has well obferved on one of the former plays, that to cry aim is to encou rage. I once thought that it was borrowed from archery; and that aim! having been the word of command, as we now fay prefent! to cry aim had been to incite notice, or raife attention. But I rather think that the old word of applaufe was j'aime, I love it, and that to applaud was to cry j'aime, which the English, not eafily pronouncing je, funk into aime or aim. JOHNSON. I think it highly probable that we fhould read, “ cry aien," i. e. cry again! aien is again.-See Chaucer and other old wri Cry aim may, indeed, in other places, have the fenfe which Dr, Warburton has given to it.

ters.

A. B

And