Emotions and Feelings

He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field.

“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain, or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.”

O! what a war of looks was then between them.

Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Men ne’er spend their fury on a child.

So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still.

A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer’d, rivers cannot quench.

For many men that stumble at the threshold Are well foretold that danger lurks within.

To fortune’s yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck’d with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call’d content; A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck’d with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call’d content; A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

The smallest worm will turn being trodden on.

O tiger’s heart wrapp’d in a woman’s hide!

Small things make base men proud.

True nobility is exempt from fear.

True nobility is exempt from fear.

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm’d that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.