William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more
Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Assume a virtue if you have it not.
Assume a virtue if you have it not.
Give me the cups,
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer read more
Give me the cups,
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,
'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.'
(Pedro:) Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best
becomes you for out o' question you were read more
(Pedro:) Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best
becomes you for out o' question you were born in a merry hour.
(Beatrice:) No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there
was a star danced, and under that was I born.
What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou read more
What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder
Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of read more
O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others!
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth read more
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchway paths to glide.
