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F L E SH.
Take thou the pound of flesh;
Merchant of Venice, A. 4, S. 1.
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that:
Merchant of Venice, A. 4, S. 1.
Romeo and Juliet, A. 5, S. 3.
Timon of Athens, A. 4, S. 4.
To die ;-to sleep ;-
That flesh is heir to,—'tis a confummation
Hamlet, A. 3, S. 1.
But we all are men, In our own natures frail; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels. Henry VIII. A. 5, S. 2.
F L OOD.
This man's brow, like to a title leaf,
Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 1.
The ruddock would, With charitable bill (O bill, fore-shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument !) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corfe.' Cymbeline, A. 4, S. 2. With fairest flowers, Whilft summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy fad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. Cymbeline, A. 4, S. 2.
But we all are men,
Of our flesh, few are angels.] If this passage means any thing, it may mean, few are perfečt while they remain in their mortal capacity.
STEEVENS. May not Shakespeare have written frail and culpable? The change is easy. I would read and point thus :
We all are men,
Winter's Tale, A. 4, S. 3;
The fairest flowers o' the season Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers, Which some call, nature's bastards : of that kind Our ruftick garden's barren.
Winter's Tale, A. 4, S. 3. - Like the bee tolling from every
flower The virtuous sweets'. Henry IV. P. 2, A. 4, S. 4.
Like a jolly troop of huntsmen come
King John, A, 2, S. 2.
Henry VI. P. 3, A. 2, S. 1.
1 like the bee tolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets.] The reading of the quarto is tolling. The folio reads culling: Tolling is taking toll. STEEVENS.
Tolling" is not in this place taking toll, or tribute, but fimply taking away. The sense is the same as culling. A. B.
Henry, your sovereign,
Henry VI. P. 3, A. 5, S. 4.
I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood, and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And fold to Navery:
Othello, A. I, S.
I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money, and let out Their coin upon large interest; I myself, Rich only in large hurts. All those, for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captain's wounds ?
Timon of Athens, A. 3, S. 5.
FOOL, FOOLS, FOLLY. God give them wisdom, that have it: and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Twelfth Night, A. 1, S. 5. The lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
Twelfth Night, A. 3, S. 1. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail : nor no railing in a known difcreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Twelfth Night, A. I, S. 5. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit; He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of the persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, checks at every feather
- I am a fool,
Ant. and Cleop. A. 3, S. 11.
You may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake The fabrick of his folly. Winter's Tale, A. I, S. 2.
If thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough, what monsters you make of them.
Hamlet, A. 3, S. i.
I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. As you like it, A. 2, S. 7. Thou art a fool: fhe robs thee of thy naine; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more vir
When she is gone. As you like it, A. 1, S. 3.
When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep contemplative.
As you like it, A. 2, S. 7. *And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life.
Lear, A. 5, S. 3,
And And my poor fool is hang d.) This is an expression of tenderwels for his dead Cordelia (not his fool, as some have thought),