Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him
Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
Lechery, lechery still wars and lechery nothing else holds fashion.
For that he has-
As much as in him lies- from time to time
Envied against the people, seeking means
To pluck away their power; as now at last
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people,
And in the power of us the tribunes, we,
Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city,
In peril of precipitation
From off the rock Tarpeian, never more
To enter our Rome gates.
By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.
All the learned and authentic fellows.
Just death, kind umpire of mens miseries.
Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.
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.
Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this: my love was my decay.
Though those who are betrayed do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe.
My heart is true as steel.
Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die.
Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love
Tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambitions ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.
We rarely like the virtues we have not.
This is the very ecstasy of love,
Whose violent property fordoes itself
And leads the will to desperate undertakings
As oft as any passion under heaven
That does afflict our natures.
Let come what will, I mean to bear it out, And either live with glorious victorie, Or die with fame renown'd for chivalrie He is not worthy of the honey-comb, That shuns the hives because the bees have stings
O Valentine, this I endure for thee!
Blessèd are you whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope.
Till then sit still, my soul.
Brave conquerors for so you are That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires.
Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor wi
God forgive us our sins!
Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.
Where is our usual manager of mirthWhat revels are in hand Is there no play,To ease the anguish of a torturing hour
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Oscar Wilde - George Bernard Shaw - Richard Steele - Philippe Quinault - Lady Gregory - John Fletcher - Jean Racine - Henry Porter - George Colman - Alexandre Dumas