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  9  /  15  

There 's the humour of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 1.

There 's the humour of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 1.

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  5  /  18  

But man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, His glassy read more

But man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

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  6  /  5  

Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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  4  /  13  

O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of read more

O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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  9  /  9  

Why should a man whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? -The Merchant of Venice. read more

Why should a man whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

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  7  /  7  

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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  3  /  7  

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act read more

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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  8  /  16  

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.

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  9  /  6  

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there read more

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

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