Maxioms by William Shakespeare
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!
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy read more
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatched with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lasslorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air--the queen o' th' sky,
Whose wat-ry arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain.
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of read more
No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world. Kings, queens. and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.
Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
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.
