But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. Act v. Sc. 1.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

Act v. Sc. I.

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,

And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.

How far that little candle throws his beams!

Act v. Sc. I.

So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Act v. Sc. 1.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Well said that was laid on with a trowel. Acti. Sc. 2.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

Cel. Not a word?

Acti. Sc. 2.

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Acti. Sc. 3.

O how full of briars is this working-day world!

Acti. Sc. 3.

We'll have a swashing and a martial outside.

Acti. Sc. 3.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The big round tears

Cours'd one another down his innocent nose

In piteous chase.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou mak'st a testament,

As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly.

O, good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweet for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
When none will sweat but for promotion.

And railed on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms.

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

Says, very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock.'

'Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags.'

Act ii. Sc. 7.

'And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale.'

Act . Sc. 7.

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

Motley's the only wear.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

If ladies be but young and fair,

They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places crammed
With observation.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

I must have liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind,

To blow on whom I please.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

The why is plain as way to parish church. Act ii. Sc. 7.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin❜d,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Act ii. Sc. 7.

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude.

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Act iii. Sc. 2.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellowfault came to match it.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.*

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

Down on your knees,

Act iii. Sc. 3.

And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love.

Act iii. Sc. 5.

It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, which, by often rumination, wraps

me in a most humorous sadness.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit.

Act iv. Sc. I.

I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad.

Act iv. Sc. I.

Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Act iv. Sc. I.

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.

Act iv. Sc. I.

Pacing through the forest,

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.

Act iv. Sc. 3.

No sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked,

* See Spenser, ante, p. 25.