This was Shakespeare's form;
Who walked in every path of human life,
Felt every passion; and to read more

This was Shakespeare's form;
Who walked in every path of human life,
Felt every passion; and to all mankind
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield
Which his own genius only could acquire.

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in read more

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. -King John. Act iii. read more

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 4.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act read more

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue in his outward parts. -The Merchant of Venice. read more

There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue in his outward parts. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.

How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. 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.