William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
read more
I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
I have no further with you.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more
Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 2.
The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be
silent, that you may hear.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be
silent, that you may hear.
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.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.
The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.
The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: Nothing becomes him ill that read more
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir
Proteus, to wreathe your arms like a malcontent, read more
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir
Proteus, to wreathe your arms like a malcontent, to relish a
love-song like a robin-redbreast, to walk alone like one that had
the pestilence, to sigh like a schoolboy that had lost his A B C,
to weep like a young wench that had buried her grandam, to fast
like one that takes diet, to watch like one that fears robbing,
to speak puling like a beggar at Hallowmas.
