These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing read more

These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Patch grief with proverbs. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.

Patch grief with proverbs. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.

I know that Deformed. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

I know that Deformed. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But being season'd with a gracious voice Obscures the show of evil? read more

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But being season'd with a gracious voice Obscures the show of evil? -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

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.

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with read more

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

I was not born under a rhyming planet. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 2.

I was not born under a rhyming planet. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 2.

This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more

This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.