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Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke
Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world ;
Or count them happy, that enjoy the fun.
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day ;
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.

Henry VI. P. 2, A. 2, S. 46

Take physic, pomp: Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, And shew the heavens more juft. Lear, A. 3, S. 4.

Why should the poor be flatter'd ? No, let the candy'd tongue lick absurd pomp; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning.

Hamlet, A. 3, S. 2.

PRA I SE. Thou shalt find she will out-ftrip all praise, And make it halt behind her. Tempeft, A. 4, S. 1. He gave you all the duties of a man ; Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; Making you ever better than his praise, By still dispraising praise, valu'd with you.

Henry IV. P. 1, A. 5, S. 2. Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this prais: is made: Feaft-won, fast-loft :: one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd.

Timon of Athens, A. 2, S. 2.

I

Feast-won, fast-Inft.] I do not understand this. I think we should read,

" Fast won, fast loft." i. è. Your friends are such as may be easily acquired, and who are easily loft.

A. B.

A giving

A giving hand, though foul, hall have fair praise,
And, out of question, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.

Love's Labour Loft, A. 4, S. F.
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you,
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies ?

As you like it, A. 2, S. 3. Methinks she is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise.

Much ado about nothing, A. I, S. 1. How

many things by season season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection?

Merchant of Venice, A. 5, S. 1.
Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause, and universal shout
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no.

Merchant of Venice, A. 3, S. 2.

PRAY E R S.

1

I'll bribe you with true prayers, That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, Ere the fun rife.

Measure for Measure, A. 2, S. .

He cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.

All's well that ends well, A. 3, S. 4

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1

PRECEPT.

Then I precepts gave her, That she should lock herself from his resort, Admit no messengers.. Hamlet, A. 2, S. 2.

PRE SE

E SE N C E.
It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim
To these ill-tuned repetitions ?.

King John, A. 2, S. 1.

P - RE Y.
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:

1 And then I precepts gave her.] Thus the folio. The two elder quartos tead, prescripts.

STEEVENS. “ Prescripts” is right-signifying inhibition, restraint. That it is the true reading the context will fully shew. Polonius says, that he had already observed to his daughter,

“ Lord Hamlet is a prince: out of thy sphere

c. This must not be!" Now this we may consider as a precept, or hint, to Ophelia how the should behave. He then goes on,

66 And then I prescripts (or orders) gave her,
e That she should lock herself from his resort,” &c.

A. B. , 2 It ill be seems this presence, to cry aim

To these ill-tuned repetitions.] Dr. Warburton has well observed on one of the former plays, that to cry aim is to encourage. I once thought that it was borrowed from archery; and that aim! having been the word of command, as we now fay present! to cry aim had been to incite notice, or raise attention. But I rather think that the old word of applause was j'aime, I love it, and that to applaud was to cry j'aime, which the English, not easily pronouncing jc, funk into aime or aim. JOHNSON.

I think it highly probable that we should read, io e. cry again! aien is again.--See Chaucer and other old wri. ters. Cry aim may, indeed, in other places, have the sense which Dr, Warburton has given to it.

A. B.

cry aien,"

And

And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
And so he comes, to rend his limbs afunder.

Henry VI. P. 3, A. 1, S. 3.

Ravens, crows, and kites,
Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,
As we were sickly, prey; their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our
army. lies ready to give up the ghost.

Julius Cæsar, A. 5, S. I,

PRI DE.

Infants prattle of thy pride,
Thou art a most pernicious usurer ;
Froward by nature, eneiny to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degrees.

Henry VI. P. 1, A. 3, S. I

Who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the very very means do ebb?

As you like it, A. 2, S. 7.
What fire is in mine ears ? can this be true ?
Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu !
No glory lives behind the back of such.

Much ado about nothing, A. 3, S. 1.

Come all to ruin ; let
Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear
Thy dangerous stoutness: for I mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me;
But owe thy pride thyself. Coriolanus, A. 3, $. 2.

He that's proud, eats up himself;
Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his

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22

Own

Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself
But in the deed, devours the deed i' the praise.

Troilus and Cressida, A. 2, S. 3.

Pride hath no other glass
To shew itself, but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.

Troilus and Cressida, A. 3, S. 3.
If thou didst put this four cold habit on
To caftigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou
Dost it enforcedly; thou’dst courtlier be again,
Wert thou not beggar. Timon of Athens, A. 4, S. 3.

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PRINC E.
The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
So much they love it; but, to stubborn spirits,
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.

Henry VIII. A. 3, S. 1.
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as thorough-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia,

Merchant of Venice, A. 2, S. 7.

Now he was
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't.

Tempeft, A. 1, S. 2.

The shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyind a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

Henry VI, P. 3, A. 2, S. 5.

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