Трагедии

he barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water.

As merry as the day is long.

For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.

Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the
fool no where but in's own house.

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

It puzzles the will.

This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.

A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.