My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which
I have made touching the king: read more

My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which
I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready
writer.

The windy satisfaction of the tongue.

The windy satisfaction of the tongue.

For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of
things in the sea, is tamed, read more

For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of
things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind:
But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of
deadly poison.

Better the feet slip then the tongue.
[Better the feet slip than the tongue.]

Better the feet slip then the tongue.
[Better the feet slip than the tongue.]

All swol'n with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy read more

All swol'n with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits
That lovesick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.

The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now read more

The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Since word is thrall, and thought is free,
Keep well thy tongue, I counsel thee.

Since word is thrall, and thought is free,
Keep well thy tongue, I counsel thee.

So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication read more

So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep.
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will; . . .

Is there a tongue like Delia's o'er her cup,
That runs for ages without winding up?

Is there a tongue like Delia's o'er her cup,
That runs for ages without winding up?