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be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashionmongers, these pardonnez-moy's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!* 35-ii. 4. 300
You are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtues gives you commission. 11-ii. 3.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
That great baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts.
When he speaks,
"Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared,t Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, Would seem hyperboles.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true,-The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. 20-iv. 4.
I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. 28-ii. 1.
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. 10-i. 2.
Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a
In ridicule of Frenchified coxcombs.
stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say there were wit in his head, an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. 26-iii. 3.
Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize,
Thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: What eye, but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat. 35-iii. I.
This lapwingf runs away with the shell on his head. He did comply with his dug, before he suck'd it. Thus has he (and many more of the same breed, that, I know, the drossy) age dotes on,) only got the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out. 36-v. 2.
He waxes desperate with imagination.
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen,
* A sly look.
† A bird which runs about as soon as it is hatched.
For fond, read fanned.
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it,*
To credit his own lie.
One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes.
If I could have remembered a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my contemplation.
If he, compact of jars,† grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left no
thing in the middle.
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel.
Thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature!
You have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. 2-ii. 4.
I will no more trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the hound: but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon, when he keeps his word. 26-v. 1.
*"Of it" should be oft. Portentous, ominous.
Made up of discord.
A gentleman, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. 35-ii. 4.
Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling* when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book: he hath not eat paper, as it were; hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts.
I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew,
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers:
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would
fain have meat.
A base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
A codling anciently meant an immature apple.
Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
Look how imagination blows him!
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
And leave eighteen.
Thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off.
Lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long.
What a disgrace it is to me to remember thy name, or to know thy face to-morrow.
A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint.
I am nothing, if not critical.*
There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul
of this man is his clothes.