WOE.

O, what a sympathy of woe is this!

As far from help as limbo is from bliss!

Tit. And. iii. 1.

WOLSEY, CARDINAL.

You are meek and humble mouth'd;
You sign your place, and calling, in full seeming,
With meekness and humility: but your heart
Is cramn'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours,
Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounted,
Where powers are your retainers; and your words
(Domestics to you) serve your will, as't please
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,
You tender more your person's honour, than
Your high profession spiritual.

He was a man

H. VIII. ii. 4.

Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes: one, that by suggestion
Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I' the presence
He would say untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never

(But where he meant to ruin) pitful:

His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave

The clergy ill example.

H. VIII. iv. 2.

This cardinal,

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer:
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, Madam,
He was most princely. Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford: one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it.
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little:

WOLSEY, continued.

And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died,

Fearing God.

H. VIII. iv. 2.

WOMAN.

Ah me! how weak a thing

The heart of woman is!

J. C. ii. 4.

When maidens sue

Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,

All their petitions are as freely theirs

As they themselves would have them.

M. M. i. 5.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do;

We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.

M. N. ii. 2.

Women are not

In their best fortunes, strong; but want will perjure
The ne'er touch'd vestal.;

A. C. iii. 10.

Come on, come on: You are pictures out of doors,

Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens,
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,

Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty,
Will deign to dip or touch one drop of it.

0. ii. 1.

T. S. v. 2.

Can my sides hold, to think, that man,-who knows

By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be, will his free hours languish for

Assured bondage ?

Cym. i. 7.

The bountiful blind woman [Fortune] doth most mistake in her gifts to women. For those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favouredly.

A. V. i. 2. WOMAN,-continued.

Ah! poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.

That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites !

GENERAL INVECTIVE AGAINST.

Τ. C. v. 2.

0. iii. 3.

Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half workers? We are bastards all:
And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stampt; some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O vengeance! vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow: O, all the devils!

Could I find out

The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm

It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slanders, mutability:

All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all:-
For even to vice

They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them:-Yet 'tis greater skill,
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:

The very devils cannot plague them better.

WONDER.

Masters, I am to discourse wonders.

They spake not a word;

But, like dumb statues, or breathless stones,

Сут. ii. 5.

Μ. Ν. iv. 2.

Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. R. III. iii. 7.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder? You make me strange,

Even to the disposition that I owe,

WONDER,-continued.

When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
While mine are blanch'd with fear.

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,

I know not what to say.

M. iii. 4.

Μ. Α. iv. 1.

Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that hath shot

out in our latter times.

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens.

These are not natural events; they strengthen,
From strange to stranger.

Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wond'ring how thou took'st it.

WOOING, WEDDING, AND REPENTING.

A. W. ii. 1.

0. ii. 1.

Τ. ν. 1.

A. W. ii. 1.

Wooing, wedding, and repenting, are as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. M. A. ii. 1.

WORDS (See also VERBOSITY).

A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

And tire the hearer with a book of words.

Good words are better than bad strokes.

T.G. ii. 4.

M. A. i. 1.

J.C. v. 1.

You have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.

Words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

T. G. ii. 4.

T. N. iii. 1.

T. N. iii. 1.

Words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason

with them.

His plausive words

He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them

To grow there, and to bear.

A. W. i. 2.

I will maintain the word with my sword, to be a soldier

like word, and a word of exceeding good command.

H. IV. PT. II. iii. 2. WORDS, continued.

O, they have lived long in the alms-basket of words.

Let not his smoothing words

Bewitch your hearts; be wise, and circumspect.

AND BLOWS.

Brutus. Sir, I hope,

My words disbench'd you not.

Coriolanus. No, Sir; yet oft,

L. L. v. 1.

H. VI. Рт. п. і. 1.

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. C. ii. 2.

WORDS, MERETRICIOUS ABUSE OF.

They that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton.

WORLD.

All the world's a stage,

T. N. iii. 1.

And all the men and women, merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant;
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:
Aud then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail,
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Ev'n in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in the sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Under the canopy.

A. F. ii. 7.

C. iv. 5.