It is a wise father that knows his own child. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

It is a wise father that knows his own child. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

Who with a body filled and vacant mind Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread. -King Henry V. Act read more

Who with a body filled and vacant mind Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

Let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.

And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. read more

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. read more

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind. -The Tempest. Act i. 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.

Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.

Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.