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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
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Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
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How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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Take pains. Be perfect.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
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Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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I cannot speak your england.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
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If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
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It is a wise father that knows his own child.
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with die same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
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Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him.
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Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.
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My love is thine to teach; teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn. Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
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Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
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Hast any philosophy in thee shepherd? .• • • • . . . He that wants money, means and content, is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
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I am not in the giving vein today.