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    How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.

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We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.

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A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in the wit is read more

A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in the wit is out. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

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I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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As cold as any stone. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 3.

As cold as any stone. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 3.

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There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and read more

There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer. -King Henry VI. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. read more

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act iv. Sc. 3.

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Thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. read more

Thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

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By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of read more

By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

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If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

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