Like John-a-dreams

pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral scene individable, or poem unlimited

It warm’d thy father’s heart with proud desire Of bold-fac’d victory.

O, I am undone, I am undone! While I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.

@shakespeare.lol @findmobydick.bsky.social Found poetry:

Trowest thou that e’er I’ll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoys the sun?

creep time ne’er so slow

suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime.

bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey.

they put forth to steal.

But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court?

My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

Get you with him, you old dog.

There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience.

Villain, I have done thy mother.

O mother, mother!

I’ll fetch a turn about the garden

If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.

What say you, Bottom?

[Drum afar off.]

Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love. Now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

to ’s power he would Have made them mules, silenc’d their pleaders, and Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them, In human action and capacity, Of no more soul nor fitness for the world Than camels in their war

I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter

But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.

Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails

This is the palace of the fearful king

he hath a third at Mexico

This is the way

Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way.

their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch.

I say it is the moon.

Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

and the wide arch Of the rang’d empire fall!

And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will.

Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou mayst.

Where go you With bats and clubs?

Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!

we may as well make bonfires on May Day

Am I but three inches?

[Enter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca]

As full of spirit as the month of May

in every thing illegitimate

boss’d

Shall we set about some revels?

You speak of him

Blessed are they that have been my friends, and woe to my Lord Chief Justice!

thou furnace of foul reeking smoke!

Some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this.

This news hath made thee a most ugly man.