William Shakespeare ( 10 of 368 )
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
A fool's bolt is soon shot.
A fool's bolt is soon shot.
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs?
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again.
What our contempts do often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again.
Lay her in the earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring.
Lay her in the earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that read more
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.
