As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all read more

As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each read more

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus read more

Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. read more

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act read more

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

I never tempted her with word too large, But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity and comely read more

I never tempted her with word too large, But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity and comely love. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.

A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. -Love's Labour 's Lost. read more

A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.