They hate us youth; down with them; fleece them

A portion of the Gadshill robbery scene from Henry IV part 1 (2.2), the joke being that Falstaff is himself an old (and quite fat) man.

Enter the Travellers

First Traveller
Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our horses down
the hill; we’ll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs.
Thieves
Stand!
Travellers
Jesus bless us!
FALSTAFF
Strike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats:
ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they
hate us youth; down with them; fleece them.
Travellers
O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!
FALSTAFF
Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye
fat chuffs: I would your store were here! On,
bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live.
You are Grand-jurors, are ye? we’ll jure ye, ‘faith.

Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt

I keep thinking of the ‘they hate us youth’ line at work. I am mostly remote now but when in person I spend more of my chatting time with the students who work for me than with my co-workers proper. The students are funnier, complain less, and teach me more. Before the pandemic I could round our age difference down to 10 years. Now I have to round it up to 15 – which is the good majority of their life but less than half of mine. So as I talk with them I increasingly feel lodged somewhere between Falstaff here and Steve Buscemi in the ‘how’s it going, fellow kids’ meme.

Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk with candle-wasters

From Much Ado About Nothing, Leonato’s speech following the accusation against Hero (5.1.3-31). The play’s text is generally unproblematic but one line in this passage has apparently forced a lot of discussion over the centuries.

I pray thee cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so loved his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelmed like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine
And let it answer every strain for strain,
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
And sorrow; wag, cry ‘hem!’ when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man: for, brother, men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air and agony with words:
No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Alternate readings include but are far from limited to:

Quarto – And sorrow, wagge, crie hem
3rd Folio – And hallow, wag, cry hem
4th Folio – And Hollow, wag, cry hem
Theobald – And Sorrow wage; cry, hem
Hanmer – And sorrow waive, cry hem
Halliwell – And sorrowing, cry ‘hem’
Johnson – And, Sorrow wag! cry; hem
Cappell – Bid sorrow, wag; cry, hem
(conjecture from an Arden note) – And, sorry wag, cry hem

The main debte here is whether ‘sorrow’ should be taken as a verb (parallel to the preceding line’s ‘stroke his beard’) or an object of the verb ‘wag’ – used under OED’s definition 7A ‘To go, depart, be off. Now colloquial’. The OED, following Cappell’s emendation, cites this passage as one of only a few instances of that sense (“And sorrow, wagge [read Bid sorrow wagge], crie hem”), and this emendation has now generally won out except where editors prefer to follow the Quarto text, as in the 2nd ed. of the Cambridge Shakespeare and, using that edition’s proposal, the new Arden I’ve given here. Those punctuate to keep ‘sorrow’ and ‘wag’ as separate verbs, relying for the latter on the second definition of the noun ‘wag’ (‘Any one ludicrously mischievous; a merry droll’ – Johnson) and supplying an implied sense of ‘play the wag’ (= pretend to be light-hearted). ‘Cry ‘hem” is taken as covering the suppressed emotion with a cough and fits either of the above readings. So we get two options:

If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
And bid sorrow be off; cover his emotion with a cough when he should groan,

and

If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
And inwardly sorrow; play light-hearted, cover his emotion with a cough when he should groan,

Both are workable, but I tend to favor the second since it better connects with a second element of what made this crux so difficult for so long – a now-resolved debate over the meaning of the extremely rare ‘candle-wasters’ a few lines later:

Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters

Some 19th century editors (following one named Staunton) took the word to mean ‘revellers’ or something like ‘those who burn down candles by staying up too late [drinking]’. The line of thought seems to have been literalizing the metaphorical ‘make misfortune drunk’ into something like ‘drink enough to forget your misfortune’ and then taking ‘with candle-wasters’ as a phrase of accompaniment rather than instrument. But fortunately there is a contemporary use from Ben Jonson’s Cynthia’s Revels (3.2.2 – the only other instance recorded by the OED) that snuffs the argument:

HEDON. Heart, was there ever so prosperous an invention thus
unluckily perverted and spoiled, by a whoreson book-worm, a
candle-waster?

ANA. Fough! he smells all lamp-oil with studying by candle-light.

‘Candle-waster’ can only be a dismissive term for a scholar (who wastes candles by studying all night) and ‘make misfortune drunk with candle-wasters’ must be largely parallel to the sentiment of the preceding ‘patch grief with proverbs.’ It is reminiscent of a favorite line of Melville’s from early in Moby Dick – ‘requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it.’

Sixpence in earnest of the bearward

Beatrice, from Much Ado About Nothing (2.1.~30-35):

He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath
no beard is less than a man: and he that is more than
a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man,
I am not for him: therefore, I will even take sixpence in
earnest of the bearward, and lead his apes into hell.

‘Bearward’ – and its variants ‘berrord’ in the Quarto text and ‘bearherd’ in Folio 3 – are the sorts of dead words I enjoy looking into. Here the OED gives a surprising multiplicity of forms:

α. Middle English barrewarde, Middle English berewarde, Middle English–1500s barwarde, Middle English–1500s bereward, Middle English–1500s berward, Middle English–1500s berwarde, 1500s bearwarde, 1500s–1600s beareward, 1600s– bearward.

β. 1500s–1600s bearard, 1600s bearerd, 1600s berard, 1600s berod, 1600s berrord, 1800s berrod (English regional).

and takes Folio 3’s ‘bearherd’ as a later synonym with a different second root element (out of curiosity I checked ‘shepherd’ and found that it had the same change in reverse in the early 17th century – breaking off into a soon-defunct ‘sheepward’).

The definition of bearward is given as:

In Britain: a person who takes care of bears, bulls, apes, or other animals, training and managing them for displays of public entertainment, such as baiting and dancing. Now historical.

The expansion to animals beyond bears feels a bit odd at first and might seem a Shakespearean innovation if there weren’t an example from 1551 ( in John Bale’s The first two parts of the Actes, or vnchast examples of the Englysh votaryes) that confirms the earlier broader application:

They played with those worldly rulers..as the bearwardes ded with their apes and their beares.

But even with its wider scope, ‘bearward’ didn’t displace more the particular terms. For apes alone I quickly found ‘ape-bearer’, ‘ape-keeper’, ‘ape-leader’, and (predictably) ‘ape-ward’. The first of these is used by Shakespeare twenty years later in A Winters Tale (4.3.94 – “I know this man well, he hath bene since an Ape-bearer.”) and, except for ‘ape-ward’ (with a single citation from Piers Plowman in 1362), the rest show continued life into the 17th century.

So why bearward here instead of an ape-word? Because it – along with variants ‘berrord’ and ‘bearherd’ – would have been a near homophone for ‘beard’ that Beatrice uses twice at the start of the quoted lines and the bard can’t turn down a sound similarity, especially when it so deftly smooths the transition to a proverb that I’ll make a post about shortly.

The transitive property – semblance of my soul

Portia, from The Merchant of Venice (3.4.10-23). If Antonio = Bassanio and Bassanio = Portia then Antonio = Portia. I wish I’d made notes on or could remember other instances of this logic in Shakespeare. My casual sense is that it’s pretty rare and usually limited to abstract qualities so extending it to people might be a unique use – though maybe less bold a reach if you take ‘soul’ as essentially an abstract.

I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
Which makes me think that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow’d
In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish misery!
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore no more of it:

Like Shakespeare says, some damn thing about sticking a mere pin in through the armor, and goodbye king

The line is from Phillip K. Dick’s The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch:

What we have here, he realized, is not an invasion of Earth by Proxmen, beings from another system. Not an invasion by the legions of a pseudo human race. No. It’s Palmer Eldritch who’s everywhere, growing and growing like a mad weed. Is there a point where he’ll burst, grow too much? All the manifestations of Eldritch, all over Terra and Luna and Mars, Palmer puffing up and bursting–pop, pop, POP! Like Shakespeare says, some damn thing about sticking a mere pin in through the armor, and goodbye king.

The Shakespeare passage referenced is one of Richard’s more famous speeches in Richard II (3.2):

No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison’d by their wives: some sleeping kill’d;
All murder’d: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour’d thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!

Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do

Portia from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice (1.2):

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s
cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that
follows his own instructions: I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the
twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may
devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
o’er a cold decree – such a hare is madness the
youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the
cripple.

Related to I see the better … Ovid, Petrarch, and Foscolo and I know what’s right, but I don’t do it.

A part to tear a cat in

From Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1.2):

QUINCE
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
BOTTOM
What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?
QUINCE
A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
BOTTOM
That will ask some tears in the true performing of
it: if I do it, let the audience look to their
eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some
measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a
tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to
tear a cat in, to make all split.

The raging rocks
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates;
And Phibbus’ car
Shall shine from far
And make and mar
The foolish Fates.


This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.
This is Ercles’ vein, a tyrant’s vein; a lover is
more condoling.

The OED gives the following definition for ‘to tear a cat’:

to tear a (the) cat: to play the part of a roistering hero; to rant and bluster: cf. tear-cat adj. and n. at tear- comb. form 2. Obsolete.
1600 W. Shakespeare Midsummer Night’s Dream i. ii. 25 I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to teare a Cat in, to make all split. View more context for this quotation
1610 Histrio-mastix 8 Sirrha is this you, would rend and teare the cat upon a stage?

and connects it to a compound ‘tear-cat’:

tear-cat adj. and n.Brit. Hear pronunciation/ˈtɛːkat/, U.S. Hear pronunciation/ˈtɛrˌkæt/ (a) adj. swaggering, ranting, bombastic (see tear v.1 1d); (b) n. a bully, swaggerer, ‘fire-eater’.
1606 J. Day Ile of Guls sig. A2v I had rather heare two good baudie iests, then a whole play of such teare-cat thunderclaps.
1611 T. Middleton & T. Dekker Roaring Girle sig. K3v Iac. Dap. What’s thy name fellow souldier? T. Cat. I am cal’d by those that haue seen my valour, Tear-Cat. Omn. Teare-Cat?
1821 W. Scott Kenilworth I. xii. 316 A man of mettle, one of those ruffling tear-cats, who maintain their master’s quarrel with sword and buckler.

Both definitions are clear enough for use but neither is satisfying for origin. All my editions are content with citing some combination of the above parallels and the only thing I can readily find that looks deeper is a 2008 piece from the Kenyon Review that documents a few editorial explanations proposed through the years. Borrowing from there we find:

Here, for example, are some tearings of cats, from “A Midsummer-night’s Dream, By William Shakespeare”, ed. Henry Cuningham, Harold F. Brooks, Published by Methuen, 1905:

“Tear a cat: Apparently a proverbial phrase for tearing a passion to tatters (Hamlet, III. ii. 10). Edwards, Canons of Criticism, 1765, p. 52, thinks this a burlesque upon Hercules’s killing a lion.

Heath, Revisal of Shakespeare’s Text, 1765, p. 45, takes Warburton’s emendation, “cap,” seriously, and supposes “it might not be unusual for a player, in the violence of his rant, sometimes to tear his cap.”

Capell takes Bottom seriously, and supposes ‘he might have seen ‘Ercles’ [Heracles] acted, and some strange thing torn, which he mistook for a cat.’”

More adventurous is Andrew Becket in Shakespeare’s Himself Again (pg 267):

The sense is wholly mistaken by the editors. It is not the domestic animal the cat, which is spoken of. For what can possibly be understood of “a part to tear a cat in?” We must read: “a part to tear: a catin.” ” To tear,” is to rant, to bluster. Catin is a french word signifying a drab, a low, vulgar woman. ‘A’ is the french particle which has the power of the adverb ‘like’. The whole will run thus: ‘My chief humor is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part in which I might rant and bluster like a very drab, a common roarer.’ Hamlet, we may remember, says;

‘Must I unpack my heart with words,
And fall a railing like a very drab.’

In the quotations in which tear cat appears, it should be noted that ‘cat’ is contracted of ‘catin’. Thus, in the Comedy of the Roaring Girl, Tear-cat (roaring woman) [is] the name of a character of the play. It must not be objected that Tear-cat is, in some of the pieces, a male character. A man may be said to rant or rail like a drab, a common woman– and we have an example of it in the lines from Hamlet.”

For my part, the only gesture to an explanation I can come up with is built largely on a later line from the same play when Lysander, trying to get rid of Hermia, says (3.2.260):

Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!

This is the only use I see in Shakespeare of a cat as ‘clinging thing’ but I can (with blind optimism) imagine ‘tear a cat’ coming about as a compression of the idea ‘act a part with such violent gestures that you’d dislodge a clinging cat.’ With even blinder optimism I could pull this one step further from anything to do with an actual cat and link it back to the prototypical stage swaggerer Hercules – the originating idea then becoming a Hercules playing his part so violently that he tears/disorders the cat (=lion) skin integral to his costume.

This extraordinary catalogue of undsoundnesses

From The Taming of the Shrew (3.2), Petruccio’s arrival at his wedding:

BIONDELLO
Why, Petruccio is coming in a new hat and an old
jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair
of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled,
another laced, an old rusty sword ta’en out of the
town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless;
with two broken points: his horse hipped with an
old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;
besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose
in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected
with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with
spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives,
stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the
bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten;
near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit
and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being
restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been
often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth
six time pieced and a woman’s crupper of velure,
which hath two letters for her name fairly set down
in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.

It is a virtuoso description but one filled with textual issues since many of the terms were already rare at the time and nearly all the rest have fallen out of the language since. As an example – using the famous difficulty with the form/meaning of ‘mose’ the editor of the second Arden edition opens with ‘No one knows what this means’ and the editor of the third edition concludes with ‘whether the text or Biondello is at fault hardly matters, for OED cites both terms as obscure.’ Below are all the notes on this section (minus Petruccio’s entrance) from the older (second) Arden edition – the more recent editor either didn’t get into the spirit of the thing or assumed (probably correctly) most readers wouldn’t care for the details. But appreciation of the minutia leads to appreciation of the marvel of Shakespeare’s having so deep a vocabulary in so specific a realm. At least one critic (Madden, cited below, who also provided my title) took this line of thinking so far as to fall into biographizing speculation (294-96).

The standard works on horsemanship and farriery in Shakespeare’s day were Thomas Blundeville’s The Fowerchiefyst offices belongyng to Horsemanshippe (1565-6) [online here], and the many works of Gervase Markham. Almost all the diseases mentioned in this passage are discussed in Markham’s A discource of horsmanshippe (1593), and later editions; see also his Cauelarice (1607), and Maister-peece (1610). Petruchio’s horse receives detailed consideration in Madden, Diary, pp. 304-6 [online here], and Shakespeare’s England, 11. 423-6. Bond’s notes on this passage [in the first Arden edition], also, are detailed and extensive.

46-8. his . . . besides] F reads ‘his horse hip’d with an olde mothy saddle, and stirrops of no kindred: besides’,

which is nonsense. NCS transposes ‘with an old mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred’ to follow after ‘two broken points’, on the hypothesis that the transcriber omitted the line accidentally, added it later in the margin, and the compositor inserted it incorrectly. Subsequent editors have preferred Sisson’s solution (New Readings, 1. 165), which simply involves repunctuating the F text so that everything between ‘with’ and ‘kindred’ is a parenthesis.

46 hipped] ‘A horse was said to be hipped when his hip-bone was dislocated so that he halted much and trailed his legs’ (Shakespeare’s England, 424). See OED, Hipped, a.1.3

47 of no kindred] that do not match.

48 the glanders] ‘a contagious disease in horses, the chief symptoms of which are swellings beneath the jaw and discharge of mucous matter from the nostrils’ (OED, Glander, 2, quoting Dekker, Witch of Edmonton, iv. i, ‘My Horse this morning runs most pitiously of the glaunders’). Markham (quoted in Shakespeare’s England, 11. 424) disagreed, and called such inflammation the strangle, and the glanders he defined as ‘a Running Imposthume, ingendred either by cold of by Famine.’

48-9. mose in the chine] No one knows what this means. The verb ‘mose’ is not known outside this passage, and OED suggests that it is a corruption of ‘Mourn’. Under Mourn, v.2, OED gives ‘A perversion of the French name for glanders’, noting that it occurs only in phrases like ‘Mourn of the chine’. Markham’s Maister-peece (ch. 42) connects the two complaints as successive stages of one disease: ‘this consumption proceeds from a cold, which afterwards grows to a poze, then to a glaunders, and lastly to this mourning of the chine.’ He confines the symptoms of this last stage to a discharge from the nostrils, ‘dark, thinne, reddish, with little streakes of blood in it’. Thus, Biondello seems to be saying that the horse is suffering from the glanders, and is likely soon to display that disease’s terminal symptom. Madden {Diary, pp. 305-6) suggests that many of the words in this ‘catalogue of unsoundnesses’ differ from the accepted terms of farriery because Shakespeare did not, like Jonson, learn them from books, but from blacksmiths and in the stables. Hence, ‘mose’ might be a local, unrecorded, variant of ‘mourn’. It might equally be a misprint. All the possible meanings of ‘chine’ are discussed by Hilda M. Hulme {Explorations, pp. 126-30). Here, it is probably an alternative name for the disease {OED, sb.2 5), which has become fossilized in the ‘mourning’ phrase.

49. lampass] ‘a disease incident to horses, consisting in a swelling of the fleshy lining of the roof of the mouth behind the front teeth’ (OED, sb.1).

fashions] farcy, or farcin, ‘a disease of animals, especially of horses, closely allied to glanders’ (OED, Farcy, sb.). Cf. Greene, Looking Glasse {Plays and Poems, ed. Collins, 1. 152), 1. ii. 230 ff. : ‘For let a Horse take a cold, or be troubled with the bots, and we straight giue him a potion or a purgation, in such phisicall maner that he mends straight : if he haue outward diseases, as the spauin, splent, ring-bone, wind-gall or fashion, or, sir, a galled backe, we let him blood and clap a plaister to him with a pestilence.’
windgalls] ‘a soft tumour on either side of a horse’s leg just above the fetlock, caused by distension of the synovial bursa’ {OED).

50-1. sped with spavins] ruined by swellings of the leg-joints. There is a wet and a dry spavin. Cf. H8, 1. iii.12-13.

51 rayed] soiled, defiled; a variant form of Berayed {OED, v.2 5). Cf.iv. i. 3.
the yellows] jaundice {OED, Yellows, 1. 1). The symptoms in horses are a yellow colouring of the eyes, lips and nostrils, with sweating of ears and flank, faintness, and refusal to eat.

52. fives] a swelling of the parotid glands in horses; the strangles. The full form of the word is ‘avives’, which came into English through French or Spanish from an Arabic original (see OED, Avives, and Fives). The aphetic English form ‘vives’ seems to have been the normal use in Elizabethan farriery. Madden {Diary, p. 306) writes ‘No one but an ignorant smith, or one bred in a stable, would speak of “the fives”. If he had even a smattering of the book-learning of farriery, he would have known that the “vives” are “certaine kernels growing under the horse’s eare. . . . The Italians call them vivole.’
stark spoiled] completely ruined.
the staggers] ‘a name for various diseases affecting domestic animals, of which a staggering gait is a symptom’ (OED, sb.1.2). Markham’s Maisterpeece (quoted by Bond) describes it as ‘a dizzy madnesse of the braine . . . from surfeit of meat, surfeit of trauell, or from corruption of blood’, accompanied by ‘staggering and reeling of the horse, and beating of his head against the walles’.
begnawn with] gnawed at by. Cf. R3,I. iii. 222.

53. the bots] A bot, or bott, is, strictly speaking, the name of a parasitical worm or maggot; now restricted to the larvae of flies of the genus Oestrus. But the phrase ‘the botts’ came to be used for the disease caused by these parasites. Cf. 1H4,II. i. 9-10, ‘that is the next way to give poor jades the bots’.
swayed. . . back] ‘Of a horse: Having a depression in the spinal column, caused by strain’ (OED, Swayed, ppl.a. 1). Bond quotes Markham (Maisterpeece, ii. c. 46) : ‘A Horse is said to be swayed in the backe, when .. . he hath taken an extreame wrinch in the lower part of his backe below his short ribbes . . . whereof are a continuall reeling and rowling of the horses hinder parts in his going.’ F reads ‘Waid’, but the existence, well attested, of the phrase ‘swayed in the back’ makes Hanmer’s emendation universally acceptable. shoulder-shotten] ‘having a strained or dislocated shoulder’ (OED, Shoulder, sb. 9. c).

54. near-legged before] ‘knock-kneed in the front legs’ is Hibbard’s gloss, and it is probably the best available. OED (Near-legged) gives ‘Going near with the (fore) legs’, but quotes only this line from Shr. in support. By his ‘nere’ Madden (Diary, p. 305) understands ‘never’, suggesting that nearlegged’ conveys no distinct meaning, while ‘ne’er-legged’ plainly signifies what would be called in stable language ‘gone before’: ‘the “ne’erlegged” horse is bound to stumble, even without the additional infirmities enumerated in the text.’ NCS intends, by ‘near-legged’, the sense of standing with the fore-legs close together, and adds (p. 157), ‘As this is a virtue in a horse, it is clear that what the author intended to write was “near-legged behind” ‘. This is a lame solution.
half-cheeked] ‘applied to a bit in which the bridle is attached halfway up the cheek or side-piece, thus giving insufficient control over the horse’s mouth’ (Onions). See also Shakespeare’s England, 11. 421, for a slightly different interpretation (with illustrations). Madden (Diary, p. 308, n. 1) finds the term obscure.

55. headstall] ‘the part of a bridle or halter that fits round the head’ (OED).
sheep’s leather] less strong than the pigskin or cowhide which was normally used.

56. restrained] drawn tightly (OED,v. 6). Cf. 2H4, 1. i. 176.

57. new-repaired] Bond and others accept F’s text, arguing that ‘hath been’ is construed with both ‘burst’ and ‘repaired’. This is perfectly possible, and receives some support from the syntax of 11. 55-7, where ‘being restrained’ and ‘hath been’ are both dependent on the relative pronoun ‘which’. But Walker’s emendation (Crit. Exam., 11. 214) gives a less contorted sense, makes clearer the fact that the ‘repairing’ has been done not once but many times, and could easily be explained as a misreading of the manuscript copy, since o and e can be much alike in Secretary hand.
girth] the band of leather or cloth going round a horse’s belly and tightened to hold the saddle in place (OED^b.1 1).

58. pieced] mended, repaired. Cf.Ant., 1. v. 45-6, ‘I will piece/Her opulent throne with kingdoms’.
crupper] leather strap which passes in a loop from the saddle round the horse’s tail to prevent the saddle from slipping. Cf. iv. i. 73.
velure] velvet. In the heavy ridinggear used in Shakespeare’s day, a lady’s crupper might be covered with velvet and mounted with her initials in silver or brass studs.

60. pieced] The piecing, or mending, with pack-thread would apply to the velvet of the crupper, not to the lettering.

Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray

From The Taming of the Shrew (1.1.25-).

LUCENTIO
….
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
Virtue and that part of philosophy
Will I apply that treats of happiness
By virtue specially to be achieved.
Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
TRANIO
Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue and this moral discipline,
Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
Or so devote to Aristotle’s cheques
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
Music and poesy use to quicken you;
The mathematics and the metaphysics,
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en:
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

I like the sentiment but there’s also an interesting pun here – one that John Lyly had used twice a few years earlier in Euphues. It is rooted in the near identical pronunciation at the time of ‘Stoic’ – as adherent of the philosophy – and ‘stock’ – as OED 1c ‘as the type of what is lifeless, motionless, or void of sensation. Hence, a senseless or stupid person.’ Lyly’s two uses are less compressed than Shakespeare’s (and better capture the continuing instability of spelling in both instances)

Who so severe as the Stoickes, which lyke stocks were moved with no melodie?

Thought he him a Stoycke, that he woulde not be moued, or a stocke that he could not?

For the bored, more of Shakespeare’s liftings from Lyly can be found here and the full (standardised spelling) text of Euphues here