William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Now, ye familiar spirits that are culled
Out of the powerful legions under earth,
Help me this read more
Now, ye familiar spirits that are culled
Out of the powerful legions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field.
The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil, and the devil hath power
T' assume read more
The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil, and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me.
From the still-vexed Bermoothes. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
From the still-vexed Bermoothes. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! -As You read more
And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 3.
He who the sword of heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe;
Pattern in himself read more
He who the sword of heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe;
Pattern in himself to know,
Grace to stand, and virtue go;
More nor less to others paying
Than by self-offenses weighing.
Shame to him whose cruel striking
Kills for faults of his own liking.
I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
read more
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if me my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer read more
Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
