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An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' read more
An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' ld have challenged him. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on read more
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
This is the short and the long of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 2.
This is the short and the long of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 2.
I have had my labour for my travail. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 1.
I have had my labour for my travail. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 1.
Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that read more
Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that when he speaks, The air, a chartered libertine, is still. -King Henry V. Act i. Sc. 1.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado read more
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.
In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more
In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.