William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce read more
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
Small show'rs last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding doth choke the feeder;
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to-morrow or next day:
He is read more
He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to-morrow or next day:
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation,
And in no worldly suits would he be moved
To draw him from his holy exercise.
Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for read more
Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for his act; and, but in
the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is
quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable;
performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great
sickness in his judgment that makes it.
Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness
To read more
Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The read more
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many thing by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection!
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy. -Troilus and read more
Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 3.
