Now my soul hath elbow-room. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

Now my soul hath elbow-room. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. read more

A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

An upright judge, a learned judge! -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

An upright judge, a learned judge! -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 5.

And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.

Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.

A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

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.