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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.

Acti. Sc. 4

O, then I see, Queen Mab hath been with you,
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.

Acti. Sc. 4

True, I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

Acti. Sc. 4.

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

Acti. Sc. 5.

Too early seen unknown, and known too late.

Acti. Sc. 5.

He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

Acti. Sc. 2.

What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

Act. Sc. 2.

Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords.

Act . Sc. 2.

At lovers' perjuries,

They say, Jove laughs.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

The god of my idolatry.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night, till it be morrow.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Nor aught so good, but, strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Stabbed with a white wench's black eye. Act ii. Sc. 4.

O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

Act ii. Sc. 4.

I am the very pink of courtesy.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

My man's as true as steel.

Here comes the lady ;-O, so light a foot

Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. Act ii. Sc. 6.

A plague o' both the houses!

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Rom. Courage, man! the hurt cannot be much.

Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 't is enough.

When he shall die,

Act iii. Sc. I.

Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

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Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.

Villain and he are many miles asunder.

Act iii. Sc. 5.

Act iii. Sc. 5.

Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. Act iv. Sc. 2.

My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne. Act v. Sc. 1.

A beggarly account of empty boxes.

My poverty, but not my will, consents.

A feasting presence full of light.

Act v. Sc. I.

Act v. Sc. I.

Act v. Sc. 3.

Beauty's ensign yet

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,

And death's pale flag is not advanced there.

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The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun :
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement: each thing's a thief.

MACBETH.

I Witch. When shall we three meet again,
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

If you can look into the seeds of time,

Activ. Sc. 3.

Acti. Sc. 1.

Acti. Sc. 1.

And say, which grain will grow, and which will not.

F

Acti. Sc. 3.

The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,

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And make my seated heart knock at my ribs.

Acti. Sc. 3.

Present fears

Are less than horrible imaginings.

Acti. Sc. 3.

Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

Nothing in his life

Became him like the leaving it; he died,
As one that had been studied in his death
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,
As 't were a careless trifle.

Acti. Sc. 3.

Acti. Sc. 4.

There's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face. Acti. Sc..

Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full of the milk of human kindness.

Acti. Sc. 5.

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