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"War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.

O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame

That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward:

Thou little valiant, great in villany!

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight

But when her humorous ladyship is by

To teach thee safety!"

Constance, in KING JOHN.

"I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,

To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond."


"Gone to be married!

Gone to swear a peace!

False blood to false blood joined! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanche? and Blanche these provinces? It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;

Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again:

It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so."

Constance, in KING JOHN.

"How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a Christian;
But more, for that, in low simplicity,

He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usuance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,

On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest: Curst be my tribe,
If I forgive him!"- Shylock, in MERCHANT OF VENICE.

"Be then his love accursed, since love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal woe.

Nay, cursed be thou, since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep,
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven."


"Traitor!' I go- but I return. This trial! Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.

This day's the birth of sorrows! This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions: - Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! - all shames and crimes!
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy come down on you like Night
And Massacre seal Rome's eternal grave!"

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The Falsetto is that peculiar tone, heard in the higher degrees of pitch, after the natural voice breaks, or apparently outruns its power. It is used in the emphatic scream of terror or pain; in the expression of extreme surprise, mockery, &c.


"He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,

And in his ear I'll holla- 'Mortimer!'

Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer,' and give it him,

To keep his anger still in motion."

Hotspur, in HENRY FOURTH.


'Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,

In the Rialto you have rated me

About my money and my usances:

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug:
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe:
You call me - - misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,

And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to then you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies; You say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? is it possible,

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,

With bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this,-

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last:
You spurn'd me such a day: another time
You called me dog: and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much monies."

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"O upright judge! — Mark, Jew; - O learned judge!"

"A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!

Gratiano, in Ibid.

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."— Ibid.

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The Tremor or Trembling Tone consists of a tremulous iteration, or a number of impulses of sound of the least assignable duration. It is used in excessive grief, pity, plaintiveness; in an intense degree of suppressed excitement, or satisfaction; and when the voice is enfeebled by


"The Tremor is made subservient to all kinds of passion; for there is scarce a passion, whether of joy, grief, or exultation, there is scarce even a sentiment, whether of tenderness or supplication, contempt, indignant scorn, or any other connatural state of feeling, to which this function of the voice does not at times add a much higher degree of impressiveness than could be effected solely by the concrete movement."-Tower.


"Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs forever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers,

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle embowers

The Lady of Shalott."- Tennyson.

"Weep, my Eschylus,

But low and far, upon Sicilian shores!

For since 't was Athens (so I read the myth)
Who gave commission to that fatal weight,
The tortoise, cold and hard, to drop on thee
And crush thee,- better cover thy bald head;
She'll hear the forest hum of Hyblan bee
Before thy loud'st protesting."

AURORA LEIGH, Mrs. Browning.

"St. Agnes' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;

The hair limped trembling through the frozen grass,

And silent was the flock in woolly fold:

Numb were the Beadsmans' fingers, while he tol

His rosary, and while his frosted breath,

Like pious incense from a censer old,

Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,

Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayers he saith." THE EVE OF ST. AGNES.-Keats.

"Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise

From hill or steaming lake, dusty or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.

His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant; in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as you flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices all ye living Souls; ye Birds,
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your note his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep,
Witness if I be silent, morn or e'en,

To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail Universal Lord, be bounteous still

To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark."

"Life! we've been long together,


Through pleasant and through cloudy weather:
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time,

Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good morning."

"Only waiting till the shadows

Are a little longer grown;

LIFE. Mrs. Barbauld.

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