William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity,
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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.
If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to read more
If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud you again.
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going read more
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watched that it may still go right!
Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, read more
Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of
nature.
With this there grows
In my most ill-compos'd affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
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With this there grows
In my most ill-compos'd affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
Desire his jewels, and this other's house,
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more, that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
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To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to.
Lord, what fools these mortals be.
Lord, what fools these mortals be.
The better part of valour is discretion.
The better part of valour is discretion.
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the read more
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house.
I am sent, with broom, before,
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Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house.
I am sent, with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
