He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
read more

He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!

Mellifluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting Quill
Commandeth Mirth or Passion, was but Will.

Mellifluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting Quill
Commandeth Mirth or Passion, was but Will.

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little read more

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more

I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I 'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, read more

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I 'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die! -King Henry IV. Part II. Act v. Sc. 3.

Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die! -King Henry IV. Part II. Act v. Sc. 3.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either read more

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act v. Sc. 1.

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there read more

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.