William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To bear her secrets so bewrayed.
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To bear her secrets so bewrayed.
Read o'er this
And after, this, and then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
Read o'er this
And after, this, and then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
My tables--meet it is I set it down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
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My tables--meet it is I set it down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in read more
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.
(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!
But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
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But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her--why she, O, she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!
O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.
O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.
The villany you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. -The read more
The villany you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 1.
If they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them read more
If they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them for. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Here comes one with a paper: God give him grace to groan!
Here comes one with a paper: God give him grace to groan!
