William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows--
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Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows--
The best I had, a princess wrought it me--
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,
Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay,
sweet hay, hath no fellow.
Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay,
sweet hay, hath no fellow.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good
play needs no epilogue.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good
play needs no epilogue.
Bleed, bleed, poor Country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee; read more
Bleed, bleed, poor Country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs,
The title is affeered!
If you can look into the seeds of time
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
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If you can look into the seeds of time
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
Your favors nor your hate.
We have scorched the snake, not killed it.
She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
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We have scorched the snake, not killed it.
She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
Simply the thing I am shall make me live.
Simply the thing I am shall make me live.
A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all read more
His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder.
But thou know'st this,
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
But thou know'st this,
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
