Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! -King Henry V. Prologue.
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! -King Henry V. Prologue.
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the read more
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.
When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little read more
When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. read more
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whispering humbleness. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whispering humbleness. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
All that glisters is not gold. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
All that glisters is not gold. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
The rankest compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.
The rankest compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.
Neither rhyme nor reason. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Neither rhyme nor reason. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
