KING RICHARD II.

All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Act i. Sc. 3.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic Summer's heat.
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Act i. Sc. 3.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ;
This fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection and the hand of war ;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this

King Richard II. continued.]

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

He is come to ope

The purple testament of bleeding war.

Act iii. Sc. 3.

And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little little grave, an obscure grave.

Act iii. Sc. 3.

Gave

His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.

A mockery king of snow.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

Act iv. Sc. I.

Act iv. Sc. I.

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious. Act v. Sc. 2.

KING HENRY IV., PART I.

In those holy fields,

Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd, For our advantage, on the bitter cross.

And now am I, if a man should speak truly,

little better than one of the wicked.

Acti. Sc. 2.

'T is my vocation, Hal; 't is no sin for a man

To sport would be as tedious as to work.

Act i. Sc. 2.

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,

Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ;

He was perfumed like a milliner,

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
gave his nose, and took 't away again.

He

Act i. Sc. 3.

King Henry IV., Part I., continued.]

And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. Act i. Sc. 3.
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.

Acti. Sc. 3.

The blood more stirs

To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

Act i. Sc. 3.

By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks.

I know a trick worth two of that.

Act i. Sc. 3.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Falstaff sweats to death,

And lards the lean earth as he walks along.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

[King Henry IV., Part I., continued. Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower,

Thou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.

I was a coward on instinct.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

No more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

Act ii. Sc. 4.

A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man

up like a bladder.

In King Cambyses' vein.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Act ii. Sc. 4.

Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

Act ii. Sc. 4.