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There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
The Merchant of Venice, Act V. Sc. 1.
I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Ibid.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted. Ibid
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Ibid.
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection! Ibid.
This night methinks is but the daylight sick. Ibid.
These blessed candles of the night. Ibid.
Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.
At You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
My pride fell with my fortunes. Ibid.
Cel. Not a word?
Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Act i. Sc. 3.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world! Ibid.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. Ibid.
We 'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have. Ibid. Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
At You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 1.
The big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase. Ibid.
"Poor deer," quoth he, "thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much." ibid.
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens. Ibid.
And He that doth the ravens feed Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Act ii. Sc. 3.
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood. Ibid.
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly. Ibid.
O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion. Ibid.
Travellers must be content. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Under the greenwood tree. Act ii. Sc. 5.
I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool. Act ii. Sc. 7.
And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms. As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7.
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
Thus we may see,” quoth he, “how the world wags."
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
Motley ’s the only wear.
If ladies be but young and fair,
I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please.
The ‘why ’ is plain as way to parish church.
If ever you have looked on better days,
And wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered.
All the world 's a stage,
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
As man's ingratitude. Ibid.
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Act iii. Sc. 2.
It goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? As You Like It, Act iii. Sc. 2.
He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends. Ibid.
With bag and baggage. Ibid.
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping! Ibid.
I do desire we may be better strangers. Ibid.
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I 'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. Ibid.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellowfault came to match it. Ibid.
Neither rhyme nor reason. Ibid.
I would the gods had made thee poetical. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Down on your knees,
Act iii. Sc. 5.
It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. Act iv. W. 1.
I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad. Ibid.
Or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.