I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. read more

I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iv. Sc. 1.

'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's read more

'T is all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.

Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge.

Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge.

I never tempted her with word too large, But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity and comely read more

I never tempted her with word too large, But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity and comely love. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.

The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

We have heard the chimes at midnight. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

We have heard the chimes at midnight. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Press not a falling man too far! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Press not a falling man too far! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with read more

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.