William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
Discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor read more
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth,
But, read more
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth,
But, being moody, give him time and scope,
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
Tongues I'll hang on every tree
That shall civil sayings show. . . .
Tongues I'll hang on every tree
That shall civil sayings show. . . .
O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, read more
O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
And blow it to the source from whence it came.
read more
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
And blow it to the source from whence it came.
Thy very beams will dry those vapors up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
Some book there is that she desires to see.
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
read more
Some book there is that she desires to see.
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read and better skilled:
Come and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damned contriver of this deed.
