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Our myriad-minded Shakespeare.
Our myriad-minded Shakespeare.
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. read more
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.
How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Must I hold a candle to my shames? -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.
Must I hold a candle to my shames? -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee read more
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
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.
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.
Chaste as the icicle That 's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple. -Coriolanus. Act read more
Chaste as the icicle That 's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple. -Coriolanus. Act v. Sc. 3.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life, read more
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life, Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, More moving-delicate and full of life Into the eye and prospect of his soul. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.
