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    How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

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The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.

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  10  /  13  

Let the end try the man. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Let the end try the man. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.

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  4  /  7  

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in read more

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

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Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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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.

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-Falstaff.

-Falstaff.

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After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from read more

After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.

And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.

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O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow read more

O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phœbus in his strength,—a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one. -The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 4.

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