What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, read more

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. -King Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

Base is the slave that pays. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Base is the slave that pays. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Order gave each thing view. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

Order gave each thing view. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

My library Was dukedom large enough. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

My library Was dukedom large enough. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. read more

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If read more

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.