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.

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee read more

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

'T is a cruelty To load a falling man. -King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 3.

'T is a cruelty To load a falling man. -King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 3.

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. read more

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

Mine host of the Garter. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

Mine host of the Garter. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason read more

Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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.

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. read more

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.