APPENDIX 
163 
Jul. The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns. 
The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage ; 
But when his fair course is not hindered, 
He makes sweet music with the enamell’d stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. 
II. vii. 24. 
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks 
And pinch’d the lily-tincture of her face, 
That now she is become as black as I. 
IV. iv. 159. 
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
Eva. Pauca verba, Sir John ; goot worts. 
Pal. Good worts! good cabbage. Slender, I broke your 
head : what matter have you against me ? 
I. i. 123. 
Three veneys for a dish of stewed prunes. 
I. i. 295. 
I will make an end of my dinner; there’s pippins and 
cheese to come. 
I. ii. 11. 
Pist. “ Convey,” the wise it call. “ Steal!” foh ! a fico 
for the phrase ! 
I. iii. 32. 
Pist.. ... For gourd and fullam holds, 
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor. 
I iii- 95 - 
What says my iEsculapius ? my Galen ? my heart of 
elder ? ha ! is he dead, bully stale ? is he dead ? 
II. iii. 29. 
To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
There will we make our peds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 
III. i. 17. 
Mrs. Ford. Go to, then: we’ll use this unwholesome 
humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; we’ll teach him to 
know turtles from jays. 
11—2 
III. iii. 42. 
