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A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: Nothing becomes him ill that read more
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.
'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's read more
'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. -King John. Act iii. read more
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.
I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that 's made for read more
I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that 's made for me. -King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.
In King Cambyses' vein. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
In King Cambyses' vein. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
