Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 4.

Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 4.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. read more

Who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A load would sink a navy. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A load would sink a navy. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath; and read more

Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath; and so was he. But we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.