His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.
I hate
To tell again a tale once fully told.
I hate
To tell again a tale once fully told.
When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out read more
When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sin.
I don't ever want anything to come in the way of me truthfully telling a story.rn
I don't ever want anything to come in the way of me truthfully telling a story.rn
At this point therefore let us begin our narrative, without
adding any more to what has already been said; read more
At this point therefore let us begin our narrative, without
adding any more to what has already been said; for it would be
foolish to lengthen the preface while cutting short the history
itself.
A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on read more
A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
Out of their saddles into the dirt--and thereby hangs a tale.
Out of their saddles into the dirt--and thereby hangs a tale.
In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I,
My thoughts without ceasing read more
In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I,
My thoughts without ceasing brood over
A tale of the time gone by.
[Ger., Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten,
Dass ich so traurig bin:
Ein marchen aus alten Zeiten
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.]
