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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. -King John. Act v. Sc. read more
This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. -As You Like read more
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 1.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me read more
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of read more
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
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.
