I left no ring with her. What means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her.
She made good view of me; indeed, so much
That, as methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring? Why, he sent her none.
I am the man. If it be so, as 'tis,
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I (poor monster) fond as much on him;
And she (mistaken) seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love.
As I am woman (now alas the day!),
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie.

William Shakespeare


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There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

William Shakespeare


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What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

William Shakespeare


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What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.

William Shakespeare


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Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's countenance, his
rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the
king best service in the end: he keeps them, like
an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to
be last swallowed: when he needs what you have
gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you
shall be dry again.

William Shakespeare


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I'll never be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand as if a man were author to himself and knew no other kin.

William Shakespeare


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Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.

William Shakespeare


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Presume not that I am the thing I was.

William Shakespeare


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Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.

William Shakespeare


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His injury the gaoler to his pity.

William Shakespeare


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