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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.