William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the read more
Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, read more
What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!
But jealous souls will not be answered so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But read more
But jealous souls will not be answered so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they're jealous.
'Tis a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.
See, your guests approach.
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
See, your guests approach.
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she
abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she read more
He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she
abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will
smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it
cannot but turn him into a notable contempt.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
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.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What read more
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale, and this cuff was but
to knock at your ear, and beseech read more
And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale, and this cuff was but
to knock at your ear, and beseech listening.
