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A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. -The Comedy of Errors. Act v. Sc. 1.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on read more
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act read more
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from read more
After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Even in the afternoon of her best days. -King Richard III. Act iii. Sc. 7.
Even in the afternoon of her best days. -King Richard III. Act iii. Sc. 7.
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. -King Henry VIII. read more
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. read more
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.
