(1) Монолог о театре («Как вам это нравится»):

All the world is stage

And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bobble reputation. Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin’d, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon With spectacles on nose well and pouch on side, His youthful hose well sav’d a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends his strange eventful history, In second childishness and mere oblivion Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

(2) Сонет 2:

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,  And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,  Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now  Will be a tottered weed of small worth held:  Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,  Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,  To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes  Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.  How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,  If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child" of mine  Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse',  Proving his beauty by succession thine.  This were to be new made when thou art old,  And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it

(3) Сонет 130:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white; why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks,

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go -

My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

(4) Сонет 23:

As an imperfect actor on the stage,  Who with his fear is put besides his part,  Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,  Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;  So I, for fear of trust, forget to say  The perfect ceremony of love's rite,  And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,  O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might:  О let my books be then the eloquence  And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,  Who plead for love, and look for recompense,  More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.  О learn to read what silent love hath writ:  To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

(5) Сонет 66:

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:

As to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,

And strength by limping sway disabled,

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,

And simple truth miscalled simplicity,

And captive good attending captain ill:

Tired with all these, from these would I he gone,

Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

(6) Монолог Виолы («Двенадцатая ночь»), она переодета в мужчину:

I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis, Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly; And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my master's love; As I am woman, —now alas the day! — What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O time! thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

(7) Монолог Робина («Сон в летнюю ночь»):

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended— 

That you have but slumbered here 

While these visions did appear. 

And this weak and idle theme, 

No more yielding but a dream, 

Gentles, do not reprehend. 

If you pardon, we will mend. 

And, as I am an honest Puck, 

If we have unearnèd luck 

Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue, 

We will make amends ere long. 

Else the Puck a liar call. 

So good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands if we be friends, 

And Robin shall restore amends. 

(8) Меркуцио («Ромео и Джульетта»):

Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 810 One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. 815 I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us!