Cymbeline

"Lest the bargain should catch cold and starve."

"His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name Is at last gasp."

"Boldness be my friend! Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!"

"Every Jack-slave hath his belly-full of fighting."

"The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest."

"How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily."

"'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus."

"The most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace."

"Hark! hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise."

"As chaste as unsunn'd snow."

"Some griefs are med'cinable."

"O, for a horse with wings!"

"Often, to our comfort, shall we find The sharded beetle in a safer hold Than is the full-wing'd eagle."

"Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe; Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk."

"Our cage We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird And sing our bondage freely."

"The art o' the court, As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery that The fear’s as bad as falling."

"The game is up!"

"'Tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world."

"Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion."

"It is no act of common passage, but A strain of rareness."

"I have not slept one wink."

"Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with."

"Weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard."

"By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy."

"Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys, Is jollity for apes and grief for boys."

"I thought he slept, and put My clouted brogues from off my feet."

"With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shall not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azur'd harebell, like thy veins."

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust."

"O, the charity of a penny cord! it sums up thousands in a trice."

"O, never say hereafter But I am truest speaker: you call’d me brother When I was but your sister; I you, brothers, When you were so indeed."