Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here 'a my
hand.
Mar. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your
hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.
Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor ?
Mar. It's dry, sir.
Sir And. Why, I think so : I am not such an ass, but I
can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ?
Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Sir And. Are you full of them!
Mar. Ay, sir : I have them at my fingers' ends : marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
ISABELLA.
[MEASURE FOR MEASURE, Act II. Scene 4]
Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,
(As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desired of such a person,
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all- binding law ; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body
