I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
Though she be but little, she is fierce!
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
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.
So quick bright things come to confusion.
Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
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.
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
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.
So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
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