If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work. -King Henry IV. Part read more

If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.

An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn. -King Henry read more

An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 3.

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as read more

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis read more

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of
that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much
of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare
puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a
pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but
our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him
beray his credit.

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; read more

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.