William Shakespeare

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. -The Merchant of Venice. read more

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

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!

We are oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage
And pious read more

We are oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.