Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days-
So full of dismal terror was the time!
Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;
Dream of success and happy victory.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about t'expound this dream.
No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.
It shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom.
Learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim Necessity; and he and
Will keep a league till death.
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a
king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
And in this state she 'gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
What was your dream, my lord?
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life
If it be so- as 'tis-
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
What win I, if I gain the thing I seek A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week Or sells eternity to 'get a toy For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy
Ay me for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. But, either it was different in blood, Or else it stood upon the choice of friends, Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold' The jaws of darkness do devour it up So quick bright things come to confusion.
I promise you my soul is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep.
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
To sleep perchance to dream ay, theres the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on.
The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing,
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie.
That, if then I had waked after a long sleep, will make me sleep again and then, in dreaming, the clouds me thought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me that, when I waked I cried to dream again.
We are such stuff As dreams are made of, And our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories