See what a grace was seated on this brow!
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command.
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
A king Of shreds and patches.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
This is the very coinage of your brain.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard.
Act iv. Sc. 5.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions!
Act iv. Sc. 5.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would.
Act v. Sc. 1.
How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation
will undo us.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest; of
most excellent fancy.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of
merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Act v. Sc. 1.
To what base uses we may return, Horatio!
Act v. Sc. 1.
Imperial Caesar, dead, and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the
wind away.
Act v.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62