I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
I am conqueror of myself.
I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
I am conqueror of myself.
Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
Why this is very midsummer madness.
Day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger
Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords!
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
If angels fight,Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.
Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge had stomach for them all.
The treasury of everlasting joy!
A dream itself is but a shadow.
Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way.
They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table.
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told.
Is he not light of brain?
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.
My daughter O my ducats O my daughter.
He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is
stabbing.
I say no more than truth, so help me God!
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.
O, no, thy love, though much, is not so great;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
I know that a woman is a dish for
the gods, if the devil dress her not.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
"Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought
To march in ranks of better equipage;
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.
Warble, child make passionate my sense of hearing.
It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.
No worse a husband than the best of men.
O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.
O, had I but followed the arts!
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning bedtime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Faith, you said so before.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful
look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think,
his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and
now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he
love me to madness, I shall never requite him.
Your children were vexation to your youth;
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York.
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hoodwink'd.
Macbeth to Witches How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags What is't you do.
Cowards die a thousand deaths. The valiant taste of death but once.
Flesh and blood,
You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian-
Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong-
Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art.
I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty-
SEBASTIAN.
It is a good divine that follows his own instructions I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
I am yet
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,
At no time broke my faith, would not betray
The devil to his fellow, and delight
No less in truth than life.
Spite of cormorant devouring Time.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two,
And that's far worse than none; better have none
Than plural faith, which is too much by one.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories