William Shakespeare ( 10 of 368 )
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.
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.
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?
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.
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.
Still harping on my daughter.
Still harping on my daughter.
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?
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
