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The best in this kind are but shadows. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.
The best in this kind are but shadows. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, read more
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,— This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.
It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too read more
It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too common. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.
Who with a body filled and vacant mind Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread. -King Henry V. Act read more
Who with a body filled and vacant mind Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread. -King Henry V. Act iv. 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.
Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock read more
Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more
Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.