William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy read more
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatched with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lasslorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air--the queen o' th' sky,
Whose wat-ry arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain.
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.
An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.
Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.
How now, foolish rheum! -King John. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.rn
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.rn
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign read more
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.
Motley 's the only wear. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Motley 's the only wear. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.
I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.
