There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good read more

There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 1.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

O, how full of briers is this working-day world! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.

O, how full of briers is this working-day world! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.

You two are book-men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

You two are book-men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

That reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. read more

That reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.