William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
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Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
What error leads must error.
Hoy-day!
What a sweep of vanity comes this way!
Hoy-day!
What a sweep of vanity comes this way!
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
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For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed--
All murdered; for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence, Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends. Subjected thus,
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.
May be he is not well.
Infirmity doth neglect all office
Whereto our health is bound.
May be he is not well.
Infirmity doth neglect all office
Whereto our health is bound.
I will make an end of my dinner--there's pippins and seese to
come.
I will make an end of my dinner--there's pippins and seese to
come.
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An read more
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
Came read more
No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity.
Fie, fie upon her!
There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip;
Nay, her foot speaks. read more
Fie, fie upon her!
There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip;
Nay, her foot speaks. Her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body.
