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  9  /  6  

'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.

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  13  /  32  

Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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  13  /  8  

I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. read more

I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

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  8  /  12  

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

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  2  /  2  

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act read more

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

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  6  /  21  

He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. read more

He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act ii. Sc. 7.

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  6  /  5  

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 3.

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  4  /  24  

I thank you for your voices: thank you: Your most sweet voices. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 3.

I thank you for your voices: thank you: Your most sweet voices. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 3.

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  6  /  7  

He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it read more

He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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