William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd She is a woman, therefore to be won
She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd She is a woman, therefore to be won
Man delights not me--nor woman neither, though, by your smiling
you seem to say so.
Man delights not me--nor woman neither, though, by your smiling
you seem to say so.
This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as read more
This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
'Tis gold
Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
read more
'Tis gold
Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
This deer to th' stand o' th' stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief,
Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's light,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more read more
These earthly godfathers of heaven's light,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their shining nights
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To read more
O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials, quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run--
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live;
When this is known, then to divide the times--
So many hours must I tend my flock,
So many hours must I take my rest,
So many hours must I contemplate,
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece.
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this!
Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never read more
Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn:
Your friends are up and buckle read more
The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn:
Your friends are up and buckle on their armor.
