William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
And read more
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.
Come, let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me. All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's read more
Come, let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me. All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of read more
O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others!
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.
A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.
O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.
Out of their saddles into the dirt--and thereby hangs a tale.
Out of their saddles into the dirt--and thereby hangs a tale.
Old father antic the law. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
Old father antic the law. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
