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2 Watch. How if a' will not stand?
Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave.

      — Much Ado about Nothing, Act III Scene 3

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KEYWORD: moderate

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# Result number

Work The work is either a play, poem, or sonnet. The sonnets are treated as single work with 154 parts.

Character Indicates who said the line. If it's a play or sonnet, the character name is "Poet."

Line Shows where the line falls within the work.

The numbering is not keyed to any copyrighted numbering system found in a volume of collected works (Arden, Oxford, etc.) The numbering starts at the beginning of the work, and does not restart for each scene.

Text The line's full text, with keywords highlighted within it, unless highlighting has been disabled by the user.

1

All's Well That Ends Well
[I, 1]

Lafeu

52

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.

2

Hamlet
[I, 2]

Horatio

454

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

3

Merchant of Venice
[III, 2]

Portia

1475

[Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.
I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
For fear I surfeit.

4

Timon of Athens
[III, 4]

Flavius

1299

O my lord,
You only speak from your distracted soul;
There is not so much left, to furnish out
A moderate table.

5

Troilus and Cressida
[IV, 4]

Pandarus

2427

Be moderate, be moderate.

6

Troilus and Cressida
[IV, 4]

Cressida

2428

Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it: how can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief.
My love admits no qualifying dross;
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

7

Twelfth Night
[II, 2]

Viola

659

Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
arrived but hither.

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