Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 3.

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 3.

My friends were poor but honest. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

My friends were poor but honest. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

And thereby hangs a tale. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act iv. Sc. 1.

And thereby hangs a tale. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act iv. Sc. 1.

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are read more

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. read more

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. -Love's Labour 's Lost. read more

A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.