621 I would, my horse had the speed of your tongue; and so good a continuer.

6ái. 1. 622 You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths.

28-i, 3.

623

Constant you are;
But yet a woman: and for secrecy,
No lady closer; for I well believe,
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee.

18%ii. 3.

624 If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.

6-ii. 1.

625 I see, lady, the gentleman is not in

your

books.... No: an he were, I would burn my study. 6-i. 1.

626

She cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endear’d.

6-iii. 1.

627

O thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds.

37-iv. 2. 628 She is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father. 2-ii. 1.

629 She is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her; that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome.

6-i. 1.

630 Let them anatomize her; see what breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts?

34iii. 6.

631 Lady, you have a merry heart. .. Yea, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care.

6-ii. 1. 632

0, Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant, Can tickle where she wounds!

31-1.2.

633 Her beauty and her brain go not together: She's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.?

31-i.3.

634 Would I (being but a moonish youth) grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing (as boys and women are the most part cattle of this colour); would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him.

10-iii. 2

635 Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a better wench in England.

19-ii. 1.

636

Whose warp'd looks proclaim What store her heart is made of.

637 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking.

37-ii. l.

638

Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have more

beauty, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,) Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ?

10-iii. 5.

639 0, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance!

20-ii. 2.

640

You are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended.

37-ii. 1.

641 What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet living?

6-i. 1. 642 Thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd with thy tongue.

6-ii, l.

643 She speaks poniards, and every word stabs : if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club, to make the fire too.

6-ii. 1.

644
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;
Above the sense of sense: so sensible

Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

8-v.2. 645 God hath given you one face, and you

make

yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.

36-iii. 1.

646 I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think, That her old gloves were on; but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand.