And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly; and but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.
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'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.
The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds read more
The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
Condemned into everlasting redemption. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Condemned into everlasting redemption. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
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.
Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.
Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 1.
I will make a Star-chamber matter of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
I will make a Star-chamber matter of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
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.
