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| 1 |
| Lord of thy presence and no land beside. |
| King John. Act i. Sc. 1. |
| 2 |
| And if his name be George, I ’ll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men’s names. |
| King John. Act i. Sc. 1. |
| 3 |
| For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation. |
| King John. Act i. Sc. 1. |
| 4 |
| Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth. |
| King John. Act i. Sc. 1. |
| 5 |
| For courage mounteth with occasion. |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 1. |
| 6 |
| I would that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that ’s made for me. |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 1. |
| 7 |
| Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e’er since
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess’ door. |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 1. |
| 8 |
| He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 1. |
| 9 |
| Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 1. 1 |
| 10 |
| Zounds! I was never so bethump’d with words
Since I first call’d my brother’s father dad. |
| King John. Act ii. Sc. 2. 2 |
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| 11 |
| I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 1. 3 |
| 12 |
| Here I and sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 1. |
| 13 |
| 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. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 1. |
| 14 |
| Thou wear a lion’s hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 1. |
| 15 |
| That no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 1. |
| 16 |
| Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 4. |
| 17 |
| Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 4. |
| 18 |
| When Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 4 |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 4. |
| 19 |
| And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up. |
| King John. Act iii. Sc. 4. |
| 20 |
| How now, foolish rheum! |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 1. |
| 21 |
| To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 22 |
| And oftentimes excusing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse. 5 |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 23 |
| We cannot hold mortality’s strong hand. |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 24 |
| Make haste; the better foot before. |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 25 |
| I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor’s news. |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 26 |
| Another lean unwashed artificer. |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 27 |
| How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done! |
| King John. Act iv. Sc. 2. |
| 28 |
| Mocking the air with colours idly spread. |
| King John. Act v. Sc. 1. |
| 29 |
| ’T is strange that death should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 6
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest. |
| King John. Act v. Sc. 7. |
| 30 |
| Now my soul hath elbow-room. |
| King John. Act v. Sc. 7. |
| 31 |
| This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. |
| King John. Act v. Sc. 7. |
| 32 |
| Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true. |
| King John. Act v. Sc. 7. |
