William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer read more
Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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.
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all read more
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time
So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time
I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so. -The Two Gentleman read more
I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act i. Sc. 2.
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in
erecting a grammar school: and whereas, before, our read more
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in
erecting a grammar school: and whereas, before, our forefathers
had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused
printing to be used, and, contrary to the king, his crown and
dignity, thou hast built a paper mill.
Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to
all others because you were born in it.
Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to
all others because you were born in it.
There's something in't
More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
Of his profession, that his read more
There's something in't
More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be sanctified
By th' luckiest stars in heaven; and would your honor
But give me leave to thy success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
By such a day and hour.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
read more
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of fraity sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
