So shaken as we are, so wan with care. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege read more

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them read more

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

To leave this keen encounter of our wits. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 2.

To leave this keen encounter of our wits. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 2.

For the rain it raineth every day. -Twelfth Night. Act v. Sc. 1.

For the rain it raineth every day. -Twelfth Night. Act v. Sc. 1.

How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.

How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.

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.