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Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible read more
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Young in limbs, in judgment old. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Young in limbs, in judgment old. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. read more
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 2.
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity. -King Henry IV. Part II. read more
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 4.
I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he read more
I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never
plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a
thousand.
Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more
Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.
