The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bofom of the fea;

And now loud howling wolves aroufe the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night;

Who with their drowfy, flow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men's graves, and from their mifty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

Henry VI. P. 2, A. 4, S. 1.

O, fuch a day,

So fought, fo follow'd, and fo fairly won,
Came not, till now, to dignify the times,

Since Cæfar's fortunes! Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 1.
-O, that a man might know

The end of this day's business, ere it come!
But it fufficeth, that the day will end,

And then the end is known.-J. Cafar, A. 5, S. r.
So I were out of prifon, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And fo I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me.

K. John, A. 4, S. 1.

No fcape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,
Abortives, prefages, and tongues of heaven.

K. John, A. 3, S. 4.

The fun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience.-

K. John, A. 3, S. 3.

On this day, let seamen fear no wreck,
No bargains break, that are not this day made.
This day, all things begun come to ill end
Yea, faith itself to hollow falfehood change.

d;

K. John, A. 3. S. 1.

Oh,

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now fhews all the beauty of the fun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away! !

Two Gent. of Verona, A. 1, S. 3.

If it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might never spit white again. Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 2.

DEATH.

Now boaft thee, death! in thy poffeffion lies
A lafs unparallel'd.-Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld

Of eyes again fo royal! Ant. & Cleop. A. 5, S. 2.
If he be flain, fay fo:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death.

Oh, how this Spring of love resembleth.] At the end of this verfe there is wanting a fyllable, for the fpeech apparently ends in a quatrain. I find nothing that will rhyme to fun, and therefore I fhall leave it to fome happier critic. I fufpect that the au thor might write thus:

"O, how this fpring of love resembleth right,
The uncertain glory of an April day;

Which now fhews all the glory of the light,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Light was either by negligence or affectation changed to fun which, confidered without the rhyme, is indeed better. The next tranfcriber, finding that the word right did not rhyme to fun, fuppofed it incorrectly written, and left it out. JOHNSON.

I think we may read

"Oh, how love's fpring resembleth in its run,
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now fhews all the beauty of the fun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!"

A. B.

Would I might never fpit white again.] i. e. May I never have my stomach inflamed with liquor, for to Spit white is the confequence of inward heat. STEEVENS.

"May I never fpit white again" is a vulgarifm. The meaning fimply is, may I never spit again-may I die. For it fhould be remembered, that if a man fpits at all, he must spit white. A. B.

And

And he doth fin, that doth belie the dead;
Not he, which fays the dead is not alive.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 1.

In few, his death (whofe fpirit lent a fire
Even to the dulleft peasant in his camp)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops.

Henry IV. P. 2, A. 1, S. 1.

I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meeteft for death; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and fo let me.

Merch. of Venice, A. 4, S. 1.

Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men,
At their death, have good infpirations.

Merch. of Venice, A. 1, S. 2.

Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths,
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;

And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ;
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action

With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. King John, A. 4, S. 2.

Without this match,

The fea enraged is not half fo deaf,

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks

More free from motion; no, not Death himself

In mortal fury half fo peremptory,

As we to keep this city.

King John, A. 2, S. 2.

Oh amiable lovely death!

Thou odoriferous ftench! found rottennefs!
Arife forth from the couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,

And I will kifs thy deteftable bones.

King John, A. 3, S. 4.

If

If thou art rich, thou art poor;

For like an ass whose back with ingots bows,

Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Meaf. for Meaf. A. 3, S. 1.
To fue to live, I find, I feek to die;

And, feeking death, find life.

Measure for Measure, A. 3, S. 1.
Thy best of rest is fleep,

And that thou oft provok'ft, yet groffly fear'ft
Thy death, which is no more.

Measure for Measure, A. 3, S. 1.

O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly as his foul's redemption,
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.1

Henry VI. P. 3, A. 2, S. 1.
The wearieft and most loathed worldly life,
That
age, ach, penury, and imprisonment,

Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death.

Measure for Measure, A. 3, S. 1.

When firft this order was ordain'd,

Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor fhrinking for distress,
But always refolute in most extremes.

Henry VI. P. 1, A. 4, S. 1.

Why stand we like foft-hearted women here,
Wailing our loffes, whiles the foe doth rage:

1 Is by the ftern Lord Clifford done to death.] Done to death for killed, was a common expreffion long before Shakespeare's time. Thus Chaucer:

And faid, that if ye done us both to die.

And Spencer mentions a plague which many did to dye.

JOHNSON.

The expreffion is according to the French idiom-faire

mourir.

A. B.

Here

Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again; never stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

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

Her blood is fettled, and her joints are stiff,
Life and these lips have long been separated;
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Romeo and Juliet, A. 4, S. 5.

Let them pull all about mine ears; present me
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses heels;
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
That the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of fight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.

Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 2.

If I fay, fine, cry fine; if death, cry death;
Infifting on the old prerogative

And power i'the truth o'the caufe.*

Coriolanus, A. 3.

Let them pronounce the fteep Tarpeian death,
Vagabond exile, fleaing: pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Their mercy at the price of one fair word.

S. 3

Coriolanus, A. 3, S. 3.

Infifting on the old prerogative,

And power 'the truth o'the caufe.] This is not eafily under ftood; we might read,

O'er the truth of the caufe.

JOHNSON.

Very eafily understood furely. Truth is, in this place, fup port. Infifting on your old prerogative and power in Support_of the caufe; i. e. the caufe of the people.

A. B.

Though