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I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell, And twenty more such names read more
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell, And twenty more such names and men as these Which never were, nor no man ever saw. -The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 2.
O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my read more
O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.
Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. read more
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
What a case am I in. -As You Like It. Epilogue.
What a case am I in. -As You Like It. Epilogue.
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
