Speeches (Lines) for Shakespeare
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# | Act, Scene, Line (Click to see in context) |
Speech text |
1 |
From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
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2 |
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
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3 |
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
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4 |
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
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5 |
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
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6 |
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
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7 |
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
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8 |
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
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9 |
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh—
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10 |
So slides he down upon his grained bat,
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11 |
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
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12 |
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
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13 |
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
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14 |
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
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15 |
'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
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16 |
'Well could he ride, and often men would say
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17 |
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
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18 |
'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
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19 |
'That he did in the general bosom reign
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20 |
'Many there were that did his picture get,
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21 |
'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
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22 |
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
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23 |
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
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24 |
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
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25 |
'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
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26 |
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
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27 |
'All my offences that abroad you see
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28 |
'Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
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29 |
'Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
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30 |
'And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
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31 |
'The diamond,—why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
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32 |
'Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
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33 |
'O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
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34 |
'Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
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35 |
'But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
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36 |
'O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
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37 |
'How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
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38 |
'My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
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39 |
'When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
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40 |
'Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
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41 |
'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
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42 |
'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
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43 |
'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
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44 |
'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
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45 |
'That not a heart which in his level came
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46 |
'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
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47 |
'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
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