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I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning; but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service.
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The head is not more native to the heart.
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Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
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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
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So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
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For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
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I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face.
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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A fusty nut with no kernel.
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Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical--these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
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for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
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Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are 'clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed.
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His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.
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Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
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To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
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Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream
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I am not prone to weeping as our sex commonly are; the want of which vain dew perchance shall dry your pities; but I have that honorable grief lodged here which burns worse than tears drown.
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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.