William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,
The which read more
I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an
ordinary man has.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an
ordinary man has.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act read more
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with read more
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
(Macbeth:) Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory of a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
(Doctor:) Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
(Macbeth:) Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it!
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
So study evermore is overshot.
While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget read more
So study evermore is overshot.
While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget to do the thing it should;
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won as towns with fire; so won, so lost.
