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.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. read more

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. read more

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

'T were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it. -All 's Well read more

'T were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out. -King Henry V. Act iv. read more

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1.

It goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

It goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

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.