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'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in read more
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 3.
And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 5.
And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 5.
O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping. -As You read more
O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. -King Richard III. Act iv. 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.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 2.
O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.
A buck of the first head. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.
A buck of the first head. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.
