"Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love..."
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love..."
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Shall I confuse you with a smelly
ape?
Shall I confuse you with a smelly ape?
You are more hairy and more odorous;
Your eye reminds me of a rotten grape.
Long distance is between the two of us.
Sometimes an ape is really quite polite.
From time to time he smiles and tips his hat,
But you do nothing save to scream and fight.
All day all night, you act just like a rat.
I hate to see your dirty ugly face.
Oh when will you get out of my damn life?
The tears you brought me have lost you the race.
I swear to god, I’ll never be your wife.
For goodness sake, why don’t you go away?
I’d rather love a monkey any day.
Shall I confuse you with a smelly ape?
You are more hairy and more odorous;
Your eye reminds me of a rotten grape.
Long distance is between the two of us.
Sometimes an ape is really quite polite.
From time to time he smiles and tips his hat,
But you do nothing save to scream and fight.
All day all night, you act just like a rat.
I hate to see your dirty ugly face.
Oh when will you get out of my damn life?
The tears you brought me have lost you the race.
I swear to god, I’ll never be your wife.
For goodness sake, why don’t you go away?
I’d rather love a monkey any day.
And Brutus is an honourable man
But Brutus says he was
ambitious
He was my friend, faithful and just to me
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
"Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
The eye wink at the hand,
yet let that be Which the eye fears,
when it is done, to see. "
-Macbeth
Hell
is empty
and
all
the
devils
are
here.
"What's in a name, by which you call a rose would
smell as sweet."
-William Shakespeare
-William Shakespeare
