Bartlette's Quotations: King Richard II.

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1	Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.	Act i. Sc. 1.
2	In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.	Ibid.
3	The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.	Sc. 3.
4	Truth hath a quiet breast.	Ibid.
5	All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.	Ibid.
6	O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.	Ibid.
7	The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony.	Act ii. Sc. 1.
8	The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.	Ibid.
9	This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,-- This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.	Ibid.
10	The ripest fruit first falls.	Ibid.
11	Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor.	Sc. 3.
12	Eating the bitter bread of banishment.	Act iii. Sc. 1.
13	Fires the proud tops of the eastern pines.	Sc. 2.
14	Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king.	Ibid.
15	O, call back yesterday, bid time return!	Ibid.
16	Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.	Ibid.
17	And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.	Ibid.
18	Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall--and farewell king!	Ibid.
19	He is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war.	Sc. 3.
20	And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave.	Ibid.
21	Gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.	Act iv. Sc. 1.
22	A mockery king of snow.	Ibid.
23	As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious.	Act v. Sc. 2.
24	As for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.	Sc. 5.