William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. 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.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace read more
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 1.
That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.
That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.
That in the captain 's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. -Measure for Measure. Act read more
That in the captain 's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatched
To the seaside, and read more
Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatched
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal;
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.
Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with read more
Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with show'rs of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
For the poor wren
(The most diminutive of birds) will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, read more
For the poor wren
(The most diminutive of birds) will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts read more
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains read more
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.
