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What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more
What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 3.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore To a most dangerous sea. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore To a most dangerous sea. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more
I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.
He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
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.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
