Maxioms by William Shakespeare
Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.
Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your read more
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear.
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbradings;
Unquiet meals make ill digestions;
Thereof the raging read more
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbradings;
Unquiet meals make ill digestions;
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
There 's a skirmish of wit between them. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.
There 's a skirmish of wit between them. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.
