After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from read more

After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Tetchy and wayward. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.

Tetchy and wayward. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are read more

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words,— Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, read more

Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words,— Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,— Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.

If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I 'll be hanged. -King Henry IV. read more

If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I 'll be hanged. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise read more

The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Unless experience be a jewel. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Unless experience be a jewel. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 2.

This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more

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.