How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

Lord, what fools these mortals be! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Lord, what fools these mortals be! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use read more

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. read more

For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act read more

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.