William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might
Become your time of day, and yours, and read more
I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might
Become your time of day, and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing. O, Proserpina,
For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's wagon; daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength--a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done!
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done!
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.
My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax; no levelled read more
My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax; no levelled malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to a grim and comfortless read more
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to a grim and comfortless despair,
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
(Berowne:) What is the end of study, let me know?
(King:) What, that to know which else we should read more
(Berowne:) What is the end of study, let me know?
(King:) What, that to know which else we should not know.
(Berowne:) Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense?
(King:) Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.
Yet marked O where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before read more
Yet marked O where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
