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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.
Constant you are;
624 If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.
625 I see, lady, the gentleman is not in
books.... No: an he were, I would burn my study. 6-i. 1.
She cannot love,
O thou public commoner!
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.
630 Let them anatomize her; see what breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts?
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!
633 Her beauty and her brain go not together: She's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.?
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.
635 Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a better wench in England.
Whose warp'd looks proclaim What store her heart is made of.
9 Her beauty and sense are not equal. Anciently almost every sign had a motto, or some attempt at witticism, underneath it.
637 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking.
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 ?
639 0, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance!
You are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended.
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.
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.
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
yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.
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.