He is well paid that is well satisfied. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

He is well paid that is well satisfied. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them read more

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain. -Love's Labour read more

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. 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.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

If I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of read more

If I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the read more

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 3.

O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for read more

O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 3.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are read more

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.