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Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
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.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. -King John. Act iv. Sc. 2.
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. -King John. Act iv. Sc. 2.
An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. read more
An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 3.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.
More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
