Familiar Quotations - - (a book to read txt) 📗
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It must be done like lightning.
Every Man in his Humour. Act iv. Sc. v.
There shall be no love lost.[178:1]
Every Man out of his Humour. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast.[178:2]
Epicœne; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,—
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art:
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Epicœne; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.
That old bald cheater, Time.
The Poetaster. Act i. Sc. 1.
The world knows only two,—that 's Rome and I.
Sejanus. Act v. Sc. 1.
Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing itself beyond expression.
The Masque of Hymen.
Courses even with the sun
Doth her mighty brother run.
The Gipsies Metamorphosed.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H.
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice,—almighty gold.[178:3]
Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland.
[179]
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I 'll not look for wine.[179:1]
The Forest. To Celia.
Soul of the age,
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage,
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room.[179:2]
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Marlowe's mighty line.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Small Latin, and less Greek.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
He was not of an age, but for all time.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
For a good poet 's made as well as born.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Sweet swan of Avon!
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,—
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death, ere thou hast slain another,
Learn'd and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke.[179:3]
[180]
Let those that merely talk and never think,
That live in the wild anarchy of drink.[180:1]
Underwoods. An Epistle, answering to One that asked to be sealed of the Tribe of Ben.
Still may syllabes jar with time,
Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never!
Underwoods. Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
Underwoods. To the immortal Memory of Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison. III.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?[180:2]
Elegy on the Lady Jane Pawlet.
[177:4] O rare Ben Jonson!—Sir John Young: Epitaph.
[177:5] Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat.—Wither: Poem on Christmas.
[177:6]
Get place and wealth,—if possible, with grace;
If not, by any means get wealth and place.
Pope: Horace, book i. epistle i. line 103.
[178:1] There is no love lost between us.—Cervantes: Don Quixote, part ii. chap. xxxiii.
[178:2] A translation from Bonnefonius.
[178:3] The flattering, mighty, nay, almighty gold.—Wolcot: To Kien Long, Ode iv.
Almighty dollar.—Irving: The Creole Village.
[179:1] Ἐμοὶ δὲ μόνοις πρόπινε τοῖς ὄμμασιν. . . . Εἰ δὲ βούλει, τοῖς χείλεσι προσφέρουσα, πλήρου φιλημάτων τὸ ἔκπωμα, κaὶ οὕτως δίδου
(Drink to me with your eyes alone. . . . And if you will, take the cup to your lips and fill it with kisses, and give it so to me).
Philostratus: Letter xxiv.
[179:2]
Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie
A little nearer Spenser, to make room
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb.
Basse: On Shakespeare.
[179:3] This epitaph is generally ascribed to Ben Jonson. It appears in the editions of his Works; but in a manuscript collection of Browne's poems preserved amongst the Lansdowne MS. No. 777, in the British Museum, it is ascribed to Browne, and awarded to him by Sir Egerton Brydges in his edition of Browne's poems.
[180:1]
They never taste who always drink;
They always talk who never think.
Prior: Upon a passage in the Scaligerana.
[180:2]
What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
Pope: To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady.
JOHN WEBSTER. —— -1638.I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exit.[180:3]
Duchess of Malfi. Act iv. Sc. 2.
'T is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden,—the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.[180:4]
The White Devil. Act i. Sc. 2.
Condemn you me for that the duke did love me?
So may you blame some fair and crystal river
For that some melancholic, distracted man
Hath drown'd himself in 't.
The White Devil. Act iii. Sc. 2.
[181]
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But look'd too near have neither heat nor light.[181:1]
The White Devil. Act iv. Sc. 4.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
The White Devil. Act. v. Sc. 2.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.[181:2]
Westward Hoe. Act ii. Sc. 2.
I saw him now going the way of all flesh.
Westward Hoe. Act ii. Sc. 2.
[180:3] Death hath so many doors to let out life.—Beaumont and Fletcher: The Customs of the Country, act ii. sc. 2.
[180:4] See Davies, page 176.
[181:1] The mountains, too, at a distance appear airy masses and smooth, but when beheld close they are rough.—Diogenes Laertius: Pyrrho.
Love is like a landscape which doth stand
Smooth at a distance, rough at hand.
Robert Hegge: On Love.
We 're charm'd with distant views of happiness,
But near approaches make the prospect less.
Yalden: Against Enjoyment.
As distant prospects please us, but when near
We find but desert rocks and fleeting air.
Garth: The Dispensatory, canto iii. line 27.
'T is distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Campbell: Pleasures of Hope, part i. line 7.
[181:2] See Bacon, page 171.
THOMAS DEKKER. —— -1641.A wise man poor
Is like a sacred book that 's never read,—
To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead.
This age thinks better of a gilded fool
Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom's school.
Old Fortunatus.
And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There 's a lean fellow beats all conquerors.
Old Fortunatus.
[182]
The best of men
That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.[182:1]
The Honest Whore. Part i. Act i. Sc. 12.
I was ne'er so thrummed since I was a gentleman.[182:2]
The Honest Whore. Part i. Act iv. Sc. 2.
This principle is old, but true as fate,—
Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate.[182:3]
The Honest Whore. Part i. Act iv. Sc. 4.
We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies.
The Honest Whore. Part ii. Act i. Sc. 2.
Turn over a new leaf.[182:4]
The Honest Whore. Part ii. Act ii. Sc. 1.
To add to golden numbers golden numbers.
Patient Grissell. Act i. Sc. 1.
Honest labour bears a lovely face.
Patient Grissell. Act i. Sc. 1.
[182:1] Of the offspring of the gentilman Jafeth come Habraham, Moyses, Aron, and the profettys; also the Kyng of the right lyne of Mary, of whom that gentilman Jhesus was borne.—Juliana Berners: Heraldic Blazonry.
[182:2] See Shakespeare, page 78.
[182:3] Cæsar said he loved the treason, but hated the traitor.—Plutarch: Life of Romulus.
[182:4] See Middleton, page 174.
BISHOP HALL. 1574-1656.Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl chain of all virtues.
Christian Moderation. Introduction.
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.[182:5]
Epistles. Dec. iii. Ep. 2.
There is many a rich stone laid up in the bowels of the earth, many a fair pearl laid up in the bosom of the sea, that never was seen, nor never shall be.[182:6]
Contemplations. Book iv. The veil of Moses.
[182:5]
And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun.
Young: Night Thoughts, night v. line 718.
[182:6]
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
Gray: Elegy, stanza 14.
[183]
JOHN FLETCHER. 1576-1625.Man is his own star; and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man
Commands all light, all influence, all fate.
Nothing to him falls early, or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,[183:1]
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Upon an "Honest Man's Fortune."
All things that are
Made for our general uses are at war,—
Even we among ourselves.
Upon an "Honest Man's Fortune."
Man is his own star; and that soul that can
Be honest is the only perfect man.[183:2]
Upon an "Honest Man's Fortune."
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone;
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.[183:3]
The Queen of Corinth. Act iii. Sc. 2.
O woman, perfect woman! what distraction
Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil!
Monsieur Thomas. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Let us do or die.[183:4]
The Island Princess. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Hit the nail on the head.
Love's Cure. Act ii. Sc. 1.
[184]
I find the medicine worse than the malady.[184:1]
Love's Cure. Act iii. Sc. 2.
He went away with a flea in
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