Cymbeline

"The crickets sing, and mans oer-labourd sense Repairs itself by rest."

"Lest the bargain should catch cold and starve."

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

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

"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."

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

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

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

"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."

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

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

"Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus."