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And men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
And men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
To leave this keen encounter of our wits. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 2.
To leave this keen encounter of our wits. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 2.
She is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand read more
She is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act ii. Sc. 4.
I have peppered two of them: two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell read more
I have peppered two of them: two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face; call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me— -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. read more
Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. read more
A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. read more
Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. read more
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. -The Two Gentleman of Verona. Act iii. Sc. 1.
And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
