How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. read more

How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Palsied eld. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Palsied eld. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

I was now a coward on instinct. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I was now a coward on instinct. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I have peppered two of them: two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell read more

I have peppered two of them: two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face; call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me— -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Answer me in one word. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Answer me in one word. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Is she not passing fair? -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act iv. Sc. 4.

Is she not passing fair? -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act iv. Sc. 4.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, read more

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,— This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each read more

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.