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What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge read more
O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.
The Retort Courteous;… the Quip Modest;… the Reply Churlish;… the Reproof Valiant;… the Countercheck Quarrelsome;… the Lie with Circumstance;… the read more
The Retort Courteous;… the Quip Modest;… the Reply Churlish;… the Reproof Valiant;… the Countercheck Quarrelsome;… the Lie with Circumstance;… the Lie Direct. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 4.
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Food for powder, food for powder; they 'll fill a pit as well as better. -King Henry IV. Part I. read more
Food for powder, food for powder; they 'll fill a pit as well as better. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 2.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all read more
As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.
