'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

You shall comprehend all vagrom men. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

You shall comprehend all vagrom men. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

'T is not in the bond. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

'T is not in the bond. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whispering humbleness. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whispering humbleness. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

He was a man Of an unbounded stomach. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

He was a man Of an unbounded stomach. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

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.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.