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The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? -The Merchant of Venice. read more
Why should a man whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in read more
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.
If my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 1.
If my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 1.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act read more
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.
Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there read more
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree. -The Merchant of read more
The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
