One Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

One Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. read more

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act ii. Sc. read more

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

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.

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.

Let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

Let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 2.

A proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 2.