I feel me much to blame So idly to profane the precious time.
Bow, stubborn knees, and heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
Presume not that I am the thing I was.
The night has been unruly. Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' th' air, strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events, New-hatched to the woeful time.
Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute "shall"?
I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
As easy mayst thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled thence that drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too.
A fool, A fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool. A miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool, Who laid him down and basked him in the sun, And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
God is our fortress.
She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'th'bud, Feed on her damask cheek.