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The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the read more
The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of
Shakespeare.
A parlous boy. -King Richard III. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A parlous boy. -King Richard III. Act ii. Sc. 4.
No more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
No more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more
Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A royal train, believe me. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 1.
A royal train, believe me. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 1.
I 'll tickle your catastrophe. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
I 'll tickle your catastrophe. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
read more
For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 1.
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 1.
