This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.
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Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out read more
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste read more
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I never knew so young a body with so old a head. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
I never knew so young a body with so old a head. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Every one can master a grief but he that has it. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Every one can master a grief but he that has it. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 2.
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of read more
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more
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.
And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
