I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the read more

I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
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For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

Halcyon days. -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Halcyon days. -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.

After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from read more

After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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.

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen read more

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say, Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.