Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

In the twinkling of an eye. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

In the twinkling of an eye. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

In his old lunes again. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iv. Sc. 2.

In his old lunes again. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Old father antic the law. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Old father antic the law. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. -King Henry VIII. read more

Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 1.

No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

So so is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. -As read more

So so is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 1.

A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in the wit is read more

A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in the wit is out. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.