'When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, To-whit, to-whoo, a merry note, ADAGES AND APOTHEGMS. Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. Every man with his affects is born, God defend the right, Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues. All pride is willing pride, Short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. Good wits will be jangling. Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Truth is truth. F Society is the happiness of life. One drunkard loves another of the name. Where is any author in the world teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? A light heart lives long. A heavy heart bears not a humble tongue. To wail friends lost, is not by much so wholesome, profitable, as to rejoice at friends but newly found. Honest, plain words best pierce the ear of grief. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue of him that makes it. Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn. There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown. Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. All delights are vain; but that most vain which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. NATURAL CHARACTER. There is a kind of character in thy life, virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. touch'd, Spirits are not finely But to fine issues: nor nature never lends Both thanks and use. DANGER OF Excess. As surfeit is the father of much fast, TEMPTATION. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, That justice seizes. What know the laws, That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant, The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, Because we see it; but what we do not see, We tread upon, and never think of it. THE BEAUTY OF MERCY. No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, THE ABUSE OF POWER. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Splitt'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle :-0, but man, proud man! Drest in a little brief authority; Most ignorant of what he's most assured, Would all themselves laugh mortal. |