There, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

There, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Every why hath a wherefore. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Every why hath a wherefore. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.

I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by day-light. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. read more

I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by day-light. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.

And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. read more

And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. read more

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 1.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

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.

I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. read more

I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iv. Sc. 1.