William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all.
He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
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.
The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is called
The beacon of the read more
The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is called
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worst.
But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears.
But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears.
Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!
Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!
Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
And here the read more
Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years;
And should read more
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years;
And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,
That I should open to the list'ning air
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms
And make pretense of wrong that I have done him;
When all, for mine, if I may call offense,
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence;
Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
Who now reproved'st me for't--
Thou art a traitor.
Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not read more
Thou art a traitor.
Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not dine until I see the same.
