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'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are read more
'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains read more
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.
Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better read more
Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.
No legacy is so rich as honesty. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act iii. Sc. 5.
No legacy is so rich as honesty. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act iii. Sc. 5.
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.
He hath eaten me out of house and home. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
He hath eaten me out of house and home. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act read more
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 2.
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste read more
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
