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Shakespeare quotes on ale33 Full many a glorious morning have I seen, Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green; Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy With mine own weakness being Source: THE SONNETS Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so to th' Queen? O that I knew this husband, which you say must charge his horns with garlands! ALEXAS I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'! 'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no 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? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A mean woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Are their males' subjects, and at their controls It may be you have heard it; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To stale't a little more There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop to th' vale I cut off's head, And am right glad he is not standing here To tell this tale of mine (Sings) To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning bedtime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight Till our scale turn the beam But I have sent for him to answer this; And for this cause awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem All studies here I solemnly defy Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke; And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales- But that I think his father loves him not And would be glad he met with some mischance, I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,' And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'- O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done Come, let me taste my horse, Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, Nor can one England brook a double reign Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales An't please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd with some discomfort from Wales At last I spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through Colville shall still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place- a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity; Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant'- 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land'; Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape and doting death is near; Therefore exhale Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety To horse, you gallant Princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous'd and banqueted; Embrace we then this opportunity, As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, half ready and half unready ALENCON Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants; Now she is there, how will she specify Here is the best and safest passage in? ALENCON Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes! ALENCON Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest, After some respite will return to Calais; From thence to England, where I hope ere long To be presented by your victories With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd To wall thee from the liberty of flight, And no way canst thou turn thee for redress But death doth front thee with apparent spoil And pale destruction meets thee in the face Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit! This is the latest glory of thy praise That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; For ere the glass that now begins to run Finish the process of his sandy hour, These eyes that see thee now well coloured Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead I am with child, ye bloody homicides; Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, By sight of these our baleful enemies Well hath your Highness seen into this duke; And had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your Grace's tale Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth And am I, then, a man to be belov'd? O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And whiles I live t' account this world but hell, Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown What, can so young a man begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? PRINCE OF WALES An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? What means that hand upon that breast of thine? Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? Then speak again-not all thy former tale, But this one word, whether thy tale be true If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, And fears by pale white shown Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues- Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not! To things of sale a seller's praise belongs Bring forth men-children only, For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'An you will not have me, choose.' He hears merry tales and smiles not How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind; How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! Enter LORENZO SALERIO 'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! And jewels- two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl; She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.' SALERIO But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio- O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!- SALERIO But is it true, Salerio? Hath all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, From Lisbon, Barbary, and India, And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks? SALERIO By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know The superstitious idle-headed eld Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; Turn melancholy forth to funerals; The pale companion is not for our pomp I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale I jest to Oberon, and make him smile When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal; And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl In very likeness of a roasted crab, And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, And on her withered dewlap pour the ale Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh; and both as light as tales I will assume thy part in some disguise And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart And take her hearing prisoner with the force And strong encounter of my amorous tale What should I speak? I stand dishonour'd that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state in inclination of the day; So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say What seal is that that without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me, But old folks, many feign as they were dead- Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse Beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music] And twenty caged nightingales do sing Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale Welcome, my friends all! [Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, And justify you traitors; at this time I will tell no tales When he was poor, Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents Greet him from me, Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red With those five talents For my own part, I must needs confess I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord, requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name; And therefore bind them, gentle Publius- Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them The general's disdain'd By him one step below, he by the next, That next by him beneath; so ever step, Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation He touch'd the ports desir'd; And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant, And hale him hither Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles' male varlet Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me [To SIR TOBY] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels Wish me partaker in thy happiness When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy headsman, Valentine O that you had mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter'd! VALENTINE O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better, That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? VALENTINE What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? VALENTINE Welcome him, then, according to his worth- Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; For Valentine, I need not cite him to it Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? VALENTINE But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither? VALENTINE Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom- Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force- A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self, Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them As if but now they waxed pale for woe But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire- But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, Lest it should ravel and be good to none, You must provide to bottom it on me; Which must be done by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine Upon this warrant shall you have access Where you with Silvia may confer at large- For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you- Where you may temper her by your persuasion To hate young Valentine and love my friend What is in Silvia's face but I may spy More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? VALENTINE A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion Of folded schedules had she many a one, Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood; Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone, Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood, With sleided silk feat and affectedly Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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