William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
(Olivia:) What's a drunken man like, fool?
(Clown:) Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught read more
(Olivia:) What's a drunken man like, fool?
(Clown:) Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught
above heat makes him a fool, the seconds mads him, and a third
drowns him.
Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, read more
Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, that that earth which kept the world in awe
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
read more
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armorers accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the read more
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down read more
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the read more
Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as read more
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
