Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Polonius.
Modern version:
“You may wonder if the stars are fire, You may wonder if the sun moves across the sky. You may wonder if the truth is a liar, But never wonder if I love.”
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O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy… Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his… Who hast by waning grown, and ther… Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet… If Nature, sovereign mistress ove…
How sweet and lovely dost thou mak… Which, like a canker in the fragra… Doth spot the beauty of thy buddin… O, in what sweets dost thou thy si… That tongue that tells the story o…
Those lines that I before have wr… Even those that said I could not… Yet then my judgment knew no reaso… My most full flame should afterwar… But reckoning Time, whose million…
Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid. Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with…
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue… Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful… O, but with mine compare thou thin… And thou shalt find it merits not… Or, if it do, not from those lips…
That thou hast her, it is not all… And yet it may be said I loved he… That she hath thee is of my wailin… A loss in love that touches me mor… Loving offenders, thus I will exc…
O! how I faint when I of you do w… Knowing a better spirit doth use y… And in the praise thereof spends a… To make me tongue-tied speaking of… But since your worth—wide as the o…
Tired with all these, for restful… As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jolli… And purest faith unhappily forswor… And gilded honour shamefully mispl…
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love t… When I against my self with thee… Do I not think on thee when I for… Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy… Who hateth thee that I do call my…
THAT time of year thou may’st in… When yellow leaves, or none, or fe… Upon those boughs which shake agai… Bare ruin’d choirs where late the… In me thou see’st the twilight of…
Like as to make our appetite more… With eager compounds we our palate… As to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness when we… Even so being full of your ne’er-c…
If my dear love were but the child… It might for Fortune’s bastard be… As subject to Time’s love or to T… Weeds among weeds, or flowers with… No, it was builded far from accide…
From “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,… PUCK sings: NOW the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
So oft have I invoked thee for my… And found such fair assistance in… As every alien pen hath got my use… And under thee their poesy dispers… Thine eyes, that taught the dumb o…
Against my love shall be, as I am… With Time’s injurious hand crushe… When hours have drained his blood… With lines and wrinkles; when his… Hath travelled on to age’s steepy…