Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. read more

Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth. -King John. Act i. Sc. 1.

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth. -King John. Act i. Sc. 1.

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with read more

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

The kindest man, The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The kindest man, The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

'T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

'T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. read more

I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.