I have had my labour for my travail. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 1.

I have had my labour for my travail. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 1.

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.

A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. -King Henry VIII. read more

A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. -King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 5.

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words That ever blotted paper! -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words That ever blotted paper! -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the read more

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 3.

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use read more

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

In King Cambyses' vein. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

In King Cambyses' vein. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth. -King John. Act i. Sc. 1.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth. -King John. Act i. Sc. 1.