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 l.u.s.ty 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-l.u.s.ter 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 lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth And then the justice,

Full of wise saws and modern instances, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon.

Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingrat.i.tude.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?