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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 75

 
 
William Shakespeare. (1564–1616) (continued)
 
824
    Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out.
          Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
825
    Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
826
    Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
827
    He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
828
    Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
829
    Sir To. Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
830
    My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
831
    These most brisk and giddy-paced times.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
832
    Let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband’s heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women’s are.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
833
    Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
834
    The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
          Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
835
    Duke. And what ’s her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,