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Seite 476 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, — Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; — • And take upon 's the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies : and we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones. That ebb and flow by the moon.
Seite 465 - Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
Seite 431 - Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man ! 9 Fool.
Seite 471 - Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me: For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
Seite 470 - Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire ; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack ! Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all.
Seite 465 - em: Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes; And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not.
Seite 436 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Seite 404 - Hear, Nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful ! Into her womb convey sterility ! Dry up in her the organs of increase ; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her...