It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too read more

It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too common. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute shall? -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute shall? -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.

He must needs go that the devil drives. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

He must needs go that the devil drives. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I do desire we may be better strangers. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I do desire we may be better strangers. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

He hath indeed better bettered expectation. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

He hath indeed better bettered expectation. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

Truth hath a quiet breast. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

Truth hath a quiet breast. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ, And seem a saint read more

And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.