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.

At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance read more

The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with read more

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

I 'll warrant him heart-whole. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

I 'll warrant him heart-whole. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.