William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. read more
Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 1.
O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile read more
O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at read more
Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise,
Arise, arise!
Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.
I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.
Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass
That every read more
Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.
Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although read more
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
