William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in holiday humor and like
enough to consent.
Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in holiday humor and like
enough to consent.
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?
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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.
There is no vice so simple but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
There is no vice so simple but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure
Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
read more
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
read more
Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured
His glassy essence--like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
would all themselves laugh mortal.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
read more
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
