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 meta- phor ? 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