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They have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act read more
They have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.
Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act iii. Sc. 3.
A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. read more
And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
In those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our read more
In those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.
For when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. read more
For when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the read more
The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of
Shakespeare.
