The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colors of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:
Wither on rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ( Read more... )

My will! 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest
indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I
am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.

This is my birth-day; as this very day ( Read more... )

Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The Genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmèd heads.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea
for an acre of barren ground - long heath, brown furze,
anything. The wills above be done, but I would fain die
a dry death.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the grren-eyed monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. The cuckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, et doubts - suspects, yet soundly loves!

Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes ( Read more... )

Hamlet
( Read more... )