The course of true love never did run smooth.
O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.
Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream
So quick bright things come to confusion.
So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
Though she be but little, she is fierce!
And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
In the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.
Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena
A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
To you your father should be as a god.
Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth,
From earth to heaven.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
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