Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford read more

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair? -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.

He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

That 's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1.

That 's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more

Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
read more

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

That unlettered small-knowing soul. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

That unlettered small-knowing soul. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. read more

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.