Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock read more

Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge read more

O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and read more

There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer. -King Henry VI. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Priscian! a little scratched, 't will serve. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.

Priscian! a little scratched, 't will serve. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.

The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

We will answer all things faithfully. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

We will answer all things faithfully. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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.