534 MOUTH MURDER MOUTH
Some asked me where the rubies grew,
And nothing I did say,
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Herrick—The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarrie of Pearls.
Lips are no part of the head, only made for a double-leaf door for the mouth.
Lyly—Midas.
Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth.
Merry Wives of Windsor. Act I. Sc. 1. Theobald's reading is "mind." Pope changed "mouth" to "mind."
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compared to that was next her chin,
(Some bee had stung it newly).
Suckling—A Ballad Upon a Wedding. St. 1 1 .
With that she dasht her on the lippes,
So dyed double red;
Hard was the heart that gave the blow,
Soft were those lippes that bled.
William Wabner—Albion's England. Bk. VIII. Ch.XLI. St. 53.
As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded is her crimson mouth.
| author = Oscar Wilde
| work = La Bella Donna della Mia Mente.
MULBERRY TREE
Moras
O, the mulberry-tree is of trees the queen!
Bare long after the rest are green;
But as time steals onwards, while none perceives
Slowly she clothes herself with leaves—
Hides her fruit under them, hard to find.
But by and by, when the flowers grow few
And the fruits are dwindling and small to view—
Out she comes in her matron grace
With the purple myriads of her race;
Pull of plenty from root to crown,
Showering plenty her feet adown.
While far over head hang gorgeously
Large luscious berries of sanguine dye,
For the best grows highest, always highest,
Upon the mulberry-tree.
D. M. Mulock—The Mulberry-Tree.
MURDER
Carcasses bleed at the sight of the murderer.
Burton
| work = Anatomy of Melancholy.
| place = Pt. I. Sec. I. Memb. II. Subsec. V.
Et tu, Brute fili.
You also, O son Brutus.
Cæsar. Words on being stabbed by Brutus, according to Suetonius. Quoted as "Et tu Brutus" and "Tu quoque Brute." True Tragedy of Richarde, Duke of York. (1600). Also found in S. Nicholson's Acolastus his Afterwitte. (1600) Cæsar's Legend, in Mirror for Magistrates. (1587) Malone suggests that the Latin words appeared in the old Latin play by Richard Eedes—Epilogus Cæsaris Interfecti, given at Christ Church, Oxford. (1582).
Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.
Trie gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
Geo. Chapman—The Widow's Tears. Act V. Sc.IV.
| note =
| topic =
| page = 534
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 10
| text = <poem>Mordre wol out, that see we day by day.
Chaucer—Canterbury Tales. The Nonnes Preestes Tale. L. 15,058.
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time,
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
Dryden—The Cock and the Fox. L. 285.
Murder, like talent, seems occasionally to run in families.
George Henry Lewes—Physiology of Common Life. Ch. XII.
| note =
| topic =
| page = 534
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 13
| text = <poem>Absolutism tempered by assassination.
Count Munster, Hanoverian envoy at St. Petersburg, writing of the Russian Constitution.
Neque enim lex est sequior ulla,
Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.
Nor is there any law more just, than that he who has plotted death shall perish by his own plot.
| author = Ovid
| work =
Ars Amatoria. I. 655.
| note =
| topic =
| page = 534
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = <poem>One murder made a villain,
Millions a hero.—Princes were privileg'd
To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.
Ah! why will kings forget that they are men,
And men that they are brethren?
Bishop Porteus—Death. L. 154.
| seealso = (See also Young)
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 16
| text = <poem>Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 5. L. 27.
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.
Hamlet. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 622.
He took my father grossly, full of bread;
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 80.
| note =
| topic =
| page = 534
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 19
| text = <poem>No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize.
Hamlet. Act IV. Sc. 7. L. 128.
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy.
Julius Cæsar. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 254.