William Shakespeare

While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.

So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!

Like one _x000D_ _x000D_ Who having into truth, by telling of it, _x000D_ _x000D_ Made such a sinner of his memory, _x000D_ _x000D_ To credit his own lie.

Speak to me as to thy thinkings, _x000D_ _x000D_ As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts _x000D_ _x000D_ The worst of words.

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.

Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.

When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;_x000D_ _x000D_ And if I die no soul will pity me:_x000D_ _x000D_ And wherefore should they, since that I myself_x000D_ _x000D_ Find in myself no pity to myself?

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated _x000D_ _x000D_ To closeness and the bettering of my mind.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.

Be great in act, as you have been in thought.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, _x000D_ _x000D_ The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. _x000D_ _x000D_ I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. _x000D_ _x000D_ Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible _x000D_ _x000D_ To feeling as to sight? or art thou but _x000D_ _x000D_ A dagger of the mind, a false creation, _x000D_ _x000D_ Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

Their understanding_x000D_ _x000D_ Begins to swell and the approaching tide_x000D_ _x000D_ Will shortly fill the reasonable shores_x000D_ _x000D_ That now lie foul and muddy.

What seest thou else_x000D_ _x000D_ In the dark backward and abysm of time?

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.

Small to greater matters must give way.

I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale_x000D_ _x000D_ Her infinite variety.

I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.

O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!