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arms Bard Bardolph bear better blood Bolingbroke brother called cause character comes common course cousin crown dead death doth duke earl earth Enter Exeunt eyes face fair Falstaff father fear folio friends give grace grief hand Harry hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry Holinshed honour horse Host I'll John keep kind king king's Lady land leave live look lord March master means meet mind nature never night noble North once passage peace Percy person play Poet Poins Prince quarto Queen Rich Richard SCENE seems sense Shakespeare Shal Shallow Sir John soul speak speech spirit stand sweet tell thee thing thou thou art thought thousand tongue true truth York young
Page 214 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.
Page 358 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd ; The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie in treasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; And, by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess.
Page 278 - When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; But now two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
Page 84 - Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 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.
Page 322 - Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) Lives so in hope, as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, That frosts will bite them.
Page 173 - Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 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 He gave his nose, and...
Page 84 - No matter where. Of comfort no man speak : Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Page 174 - Answer'd neglectingly I know not what, He should, or he should not; for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns and drums and wounds — God save the mark! — And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti...