How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign read more

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

For courage mounteth with occasion. -King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.

For courage mounteth with occasion. -King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little read more

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That read more

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That we no more our verse would scrawl,
For Shakespeare he had said it all!

For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never read more

For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her read more

Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

That daffed the world aside, And bid it pass. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 1.

That daffed the world aside, And bid it pass. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 1.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each read more

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.