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.
The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
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The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill--
. . . .
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but
the saying is true, read more
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but
the saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.'
Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
I do love
My country's good with a respect more tender,
More holy and profound, then mine read more
I do love
My country's good with a respect more tender,
More holy and profound, then mine own life,
My dear wife's estimate, her womb increase,
And treasure of my loins.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move and trees to read more
It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;
Augures and understood relations have
By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?
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.
You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I do not like
the fashion of your garments.
You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I do not like
the fashion of your garments.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
Is smothered in surmise and nothing is
But what is not.
