William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where read more
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood so cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratched withal. I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.
To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave read more
When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave shall we discourse
The freezing hours away?
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand read more
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant!
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true read more
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant!
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel.
Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets!
Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets!
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity,
read more
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity,
And pity 'tis 'tis true--a foolish figure.
