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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible read more
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
By my penny of observation. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
By my penny of observation. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! -King Henry V. Prologue.
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! -King Henry V. Prologue.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. read more
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.
Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more
Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.
So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
'T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
'T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
