The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.

These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

As merry as the day is long. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.

As merry as the day is long. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.

An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England! -King Henry V. Act read more

An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England! -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 8.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible read more

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act read more

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It read more

And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act ii. Sc. 1.