These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing read more

These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

Exceedingly well read. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Exceedingly well read. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Most forcible Feeble. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Most forcible Feeble. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 5.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 5.