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When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your read more
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear.
The child saies nothing, but what it heard by the fire.
The child saies nothing, but what it heard by the fire.
A kindness spontaneously offered to him who needs it, is doubly
gratifying.
A kindness spontaneously offered to him who needs it, is doubly
gratifying.
He that hopes not for good, feares not evill.
He that hopes not for good, feares not evill.
Who will sell the Cow, must say the word.
Who will sell the Cow, must say the word.
Neither bribe nor loose thy right.
Neither bribe nor loose thy right.
Virtue lies half way between two opposite vices.
Virtue lies half way between two opposite vices.
O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
Tell me, thou old man, worthy of a child's bauble.
Tell me, thou old man, worthy of a child's bauble.
