Every true man's apparel fits your thief. -Measure for Measure. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Every true man's apparel fits your thief. -Measure for Measure. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

A good mouth-filling oath. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A good mouth-filling oath. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee read more

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A plague of all cowards, I say. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

A plague of all cowards, I say. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. read more

He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct read more

For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act read more

One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

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.