William Shakespeare ( 10 of 368 )
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
A fool's bolt is soon shot.
A fool's bolt is soon shot.
Lay her in the earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring.
Lay her in the earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring.
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that read more
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again.
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again.
Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind;
The foul cubs like their parents are.
Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind;
The foul cubs like their parents are.
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
