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    And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.

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Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock read more

Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.

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What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

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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.

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Had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, read more

Had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. -Coriolanus. Act i. Sc. 3.

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Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

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Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. read more

Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.

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Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.

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'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's read more

'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.

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For never anything can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.

For never anything can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.

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