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.

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are read more

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple. -The Two read more

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act ii. Sc. 1.

This earth that bears thee dead Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. read more

This earth that bears thee dead Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more

They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act read more

One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. 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.