William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armorers accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!
Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, read more
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
Custom will reconcile people to any atrocity; and fashion will
drive them to acquire any custom.
Custom will reconcile people to any atrocity; and fashion will
drive them to acquire any custom.
We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
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We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
And good from bad find no partition.
You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that read more
You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would men!
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.
