Thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. read more

Thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day and comes safe home, Will stand a read more

This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry read more

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good read more

There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

My cake is dough. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. Sc. 1.

My cake is dough. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. Sc. 1.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It read more

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Except I be by Sylvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. read more

Except I be by Sylvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act iii. Sc. 1.

From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth. -Much Ado about Nothing. read more

From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 2.

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my read more

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 1.