ht sleeps upon this bank!

Act v. Sc. 1.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

Act v. Sc. 1.

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.

Act v. Sc. 1.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

* * * * *

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act i. Sc. 2.

Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

Act i. Sc. 2.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

Act i. Sc. 3.

_Cel_. Not a word?
_Ros_. Not one to throw at a dog.

Act i. Sc. 3.

O how full of briers is this working-day world!

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

And this our life, exempt from public haunts,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

"Poor deer," quoth he, "thou mak'st a testament,
As wordlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much."

Act ii. Sc. 3.

And He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age!

Act ii. Sc. 3.

For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;

* * * * *

Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

And railed on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms....
And looking on it with lack-luster eye,
"Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the
world wags.

* * * * *

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale."

* * * * *

Motley's the only wear.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

If ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

The why is plain as way to parish church.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts

* * * * *

And then, the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then, the