William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
read more
She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your brood with pleasing heaviness,
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night
The hour before the heavenly-harnessed team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock read more
Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking.
I shall be out of heart shortly, read more
Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking.
I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no
strength to repent.
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?
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the read more
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. -The Tempest. Act ii. Sc. 2.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true is so like
an old tale that the read more
How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true is so like
an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion.
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.
