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Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries :
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood

dwells;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his

death! Either, heaven, with lightning strike the mur

derer dead, Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

K. RICHARD III., A. 1, s. 2.

BEAUTY AND VIRTUE INDIGNANT

AT MAN'S BASENESS. Away!—I do condemn mine ears, that have So long attended thee.- If thou wert honourable, Thou would’st have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far From thy report, as thou from honour; and Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains Thee and the devil alike. What ho! Pisanio! The king my father shall be made acquainted Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart

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As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all.—What ho, Pisanio!

CYMBELINE, A. 1, s. 7.

BEAUTY AWITCH, MUCH GIVEN

TO WITCHCRAFT. 'Tis certain so ;—the prince woos for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, A. 2, s. 1.

BEAUTY, EARTH'S CONSERVATOR.

Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind,

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares Iook

upon

the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty ?
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,

seek.

Fye, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not; To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ;

She passes praise: then praise too short

doth blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine! 0, who can give an oath? where is a book ?

That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack : If that she learn not of her eye to look.

Love's LABOUR LOST, a. 4, s. 3.

BEAUTY LIVES WITH KINDNESS. AND may it be that you have quite forgot

A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, hate, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ?

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more

kindness : Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; Muffle your false love with some show of

blindness : Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ;

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted ?

What simple thief brags of his own attaint ?

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'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,

And let her read it in thy looks at board : Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ;

Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe,

Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;

We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

COMEDY OF ERRORS, A. 3, s. 2.

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BEAUTY'S PORTRAIT.

What demi-god Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her

hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes,How could he see to do them ? having made one, Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this

shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance.

MERCHANT OF VENICE, A. 3, s. 2.

BEAUTY, VIRTUE, FIDELITY, AND

PRINCIPLE OVERCOME BY CUNNING FLATTERY.

GLOSTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. ANNE. Villain, thou know'st no law of God

nor man ; No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no

beast. ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! Glo. More wonderful when angels are so

angry:
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.
GLO. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let

me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee,

thou canst make No excuse

current, but to hang thyself. Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. ANNE. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand

excus'd;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
GLO.

Say, that I slew them not?
ANNE.

Why then, they are not dead: But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. GLO. I did not kill

your

husband. ANNE.

Why, then he is alive.

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