What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more

What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 3.

The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since; but I think now 't is not read more

The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since; but I think now 't is not to be found. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 2.

If ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, Which is read more

If ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

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.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for read more

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act read more

The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as read more

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.