Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a read more

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a milliner, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose and took 't away again. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.

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.

An unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn. -The Merchant read more

An unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A rascally yea-forsooth knave. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

A rascally yea-forsooth knave. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

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.

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign read more

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.

A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.