William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Your heart's desires be with you! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
Your heart's desires be with you! -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
I told you, sir, they were redhot with drinking;
So full of valor that they smote the air
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I told you, sir, they were redhot with drinking;
So full of valor that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces, beat the ground,
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project.
But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
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But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
And in the last repeating troublesome,
Being urged at a time unreasonable.
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute by palm,
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Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute by palm,
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
And say there is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be
To say there is no vice but beggary.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
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O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level. and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea!
If't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still.
If't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
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From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him;
Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act read more
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
