William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will--
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I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will--
My will enkindled my by mine and ears
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding read more
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of
myself, and what remains is bestial. read more
O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of
myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my
reputation!
Question your grace the late ambassadors,
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied read more
Question your grace the late ambassadors,
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate.
Contemplation makes a rare turkey cock of him. How he jets under
his advanced plumes!
Contemplation makes a rare turkey cock of him. How he jets under
his advanced plumes!
I cannot give thee less, to be called grateful.
Thou thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give
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I cannot give thee less, to be called grateful.
Thou thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give
As one near death to those that wish him live.
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
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For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, brags of his substance: they are but beggars who can count their read more
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, brags of his substance: they are but beggars who can count their worth.
The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst,
'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst,
'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
