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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.
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which read more
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus read more
Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 2.
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.
Many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
Many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The most senseless and fit man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.
The most senseless and fit man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.
O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow read more
O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phœbus in his strength,—a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one. -The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 4.
Small have continual plodders ever won Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights That give read more
Small have continual plodders ever won Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights That give a name to every fixed star Have no more profit of their shining nights Than those that walk and wot not what they are. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
