THE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

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Page 443 - When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 56 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and inccrtain thoughts Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible.
Page 53 - Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths ; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Page 14 - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd...
Page 387 - Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts...
Page 352 - Save base authority from others' books. • These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights, Than those that walk, and wot not what they are.
Page 54 - And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Page 41 - Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, — Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence, — like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Page 367 - Birone they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Page 443 - Tu-whit, tu-who ! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...

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