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It seems to me most strange that men should fear,
Seeing that death, a necessary end,

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Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge,

With Até by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry Havock, and let slip the dogs of war.

The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.


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O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !

I am no orator, as Brutus is;


But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
That love my friend.


Thou hast describ'd

A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to sicken and decay,

It useth an enforced ceremony.

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I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman,

Act IV.

Scene 3.


There is no terror, Cassius, in your
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not.

There is a tide in the affairs of men


Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.


The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!

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So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, This was a man!

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Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings.*

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes;

With every thing that pretty bin:

My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise.

Song. Act II.

Scene 3.


Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue

Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.

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*None but the lark so shril and clear!
How at Heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.


by John Lyly, Act v. Scene I

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Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?

Act III.

I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.

Scene 4.

Aye, every inch a king.


Act IV.

Scene 6.

Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to

sweeten my imagination.

When we are born, we cry, that we are come


To this great stage of fools.


The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices,

Make instruments to scourge us.

Act v.

Scene 3.

Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle, and low: an excellent thing in woman.



The weakest goes to the wall.

Act 1.

Scene 1.

One fire burns out another's burning:
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

Act 1. Scene 2.

VO, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

Act 1. Scene 4.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright;
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

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My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

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