Emotions and Feelings

Now, God be prais’d, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

Could I come near your beauty with my nails I’d set my ten commandments in your face.

’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancor will out.

’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancor will out.

She’s beautiful and therefore to be woo’d, She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Of all base passions, fear is most accurs’d.

Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Fight till the last gasp.

I’ll burn my books!

O lente, lente currite noctis equi: 7 [Slowly, slowly run, O horses of the night:] The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned. O, I’ll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down? See, see where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament! One drop would save my soul—half a drop: ah, my Christ!

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? 5 Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul; 6 see, where it flies!

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it: Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

Come live with me, and be my love; And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 1 Woods or steepy mountain yields.

A friend is never known till a man have need.

Let the world slide, 2 let the world go; A fig for care, and a fig for woe! If I can’t pay, why I can owe, And death makes equal the high and low.

All a green willow, willow, willow, All a green willow is my garland.

Let the dozing soul remember, let the mind awake and revive by contemplating how our life goes by so swiftly and how our death comes near so silently; how quickly pleasure fades, and how when it is recalled it give us pain, how we seem always to think that times past must have been better than today.

But where are the snows of yesteryear? 2

Ah God! Had I but studied In the days of my foolish youth. 1

My sone, keep wel thy tonge, and keep thy freend.

He was of knyghthod and of fredom flour.

Pacience is an heigh vertu, certeyn.

O stormy peple! unsad and evere untrewe!