Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election, Sh'ath sealed thee for herself.
Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
Take it in what sense thou wilt.
My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
See first that the design is wise and just: that ascertained, pursue it resolutely; do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect.
Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past
Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
I am not in the giving vein today.
A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
Remembrance of things past.
Greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!
Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.
I'll privily away; I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes; Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.
Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
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