| 1711 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Andrew |
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1.3.101 |
Faith, I can cut a ^caper^. |
An. |
Faith, I can cut a caper. |
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229 |
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1.3.116 |
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1.3.113 |
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1.3.98 |
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| 1712 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Andrew |
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1.3.103 |
And I think I have the ^back-trip^ |
And. |
And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as | strong as any man in Illyria. |
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231 |
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1.3.118 |
…back-trick… |
1.3.115 |
…back-trick… |
1.3.100 |
…back-trick… |
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| 1713 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Toby |
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1.3.107 |
Why dost thou not go to church in a ^galliard^,| and come home in a ^coranto^? My very walk should be a | ^jig^; I delight to kiss them, | He would not then have ^touched^ them for his life. | Or had he ^heard the heavenly harmony^ | Which that ^sweet^ tongue hath made, | He would have dropped his knife and fell asleep, | As Cerberus at the ^Thracian poet’s^ feet. |
To. |
Why dost thou not goe | to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto? | My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much | as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou | meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by | the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder | the starre of a Galliard. |
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235 |
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1.3.122 |
sink-a-pace |
1.3.119 |
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1.3.104 |
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| 1714 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Andrew |
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1.3.114 |
Shall we set about some ^revels^? |
And. |
Shall we sit about some Reuels? |
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243 |
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1.3.130 |
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1.3.127 |
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1.3.110 |
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| 1715 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Toby |
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1.3.118 |
No, sir, it is legs and thighs: let me see thee ^caper^. [Sir Andrew ^capers^] |
To. |
No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper. |
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247 |
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1.3.135 |
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1.3.131 |
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1.3.113 |
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| 1716 |
Twelfth Night |
Orsino |
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1.4.31 |
thy ^small pipe^ | Is as the ^maiden’s organ, shrill and sound^, | And all is semblative a woman’s part. |
Du. |
thy small pipe | Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound, | And all is semblatiue a womans part. |
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283 |
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1.4.32 |
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1.4.32 |
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1.4.31 |
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| 1717 |
Twelfth Night |
Viola |
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1.5.239 |
Write loyal ^cantons^ of contemned love, | And ^sing^ them loud even in the dead of night; | Halloo your name to the ^reverberate^ hills | And make the ^babbling gossip of the air^ | Cry out ‘Olivia’! |
Vio. |
Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, | And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night: | Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, | And make the babling Gossip of the aire, | Cry out Oliuia: |
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563 |
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1.5.262 |
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1.5.259 |
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1.5.225 |
…Hallow your name… |
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| 1718 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Toby |
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2.3.16 |
Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a ^catch^. |
To. |
Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch. |
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718 |
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2.3.17 |
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2.3.17 |
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2.3.16 |
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| 1719 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Andrew |
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2.3.17 |
By my troth, the fool has an excellent ^breast^ . . . and so ^sweet a breath to sing^ |
And. |
By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I | had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so | sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. |
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719 |
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2.3.18 |
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2.3.18 |
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2.3.17 |
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| 1720 |
Twelfth Night |
Sir Andrew |
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2.3.26 |
Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is | done. Now a ^song^. |
An. |
Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when | all is done. Now a song. |
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729 |
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2.3.28 |
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2.3.28 |
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2.3.26 |
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