'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

All that glisters is not gold. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.

All that glisters is not gold. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.

And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

The rational hind Costard. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 2.

The rational hind Costard. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 2.

He doth nothing but talk of his horse. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

He doth nothing but talk of his horse. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. 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.