| |
RSS Feed - Site Map - Contact |
| Bible Quotes | Aristotle Quotes | Plato Quotes | Shakespeare Quotes |
Shakespeare quotes on rainUse a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain'd yourself within the list of too cold an adieu Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the Source: ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL But all the charms of love, Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip! Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both; Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, Keep his brain fuming Your Caesar's father oft, When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner; And, about evening, come yourself alone To know the reason of this strange restraint Suffer us to famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel an with him You're my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint But 'tis not so; 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes (sings) They bore him barefac'd on the bier (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony) And in his grave rain'd many a tear My nephew's trespass may be well forgot; It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, And an adopted name of privilege- A hare-brained Hotspur govern'd by a spleen I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, Source: SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels And make a quagmire of your mingled brains Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage [Exit SERGEANT] Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, Pity the city of London, pity us! The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones And, banding themselves in contrary parts, Do pelt so fast at one another's pate That many have their giddy brains knock'd out Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow Yet have I gold flies from another coast- I dare not say from the rich Cardinal, And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk; Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the Duchess, And buzz these conjurations in her brain Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish; Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will; For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke As rain to water, or devil to his dam But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train The King must take it ill That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrain'd If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters [sings] He that has and a little tiny wit- With hey, ho, the wind and the rain- Must make content with his fortunes fit, For the rain it raineth every day Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy Thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty; As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee I am about it, but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze; It plucks out brains and all Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps When the sun sets the air doth drizzle dew, But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright Son of sixteen, Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains He by the Senate is accited home, From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, That with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, My hand cut off and made a merry jest; Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee I stand condemn'd for this; They think my little stomach to the war And your great love to me restrains you thus Were thy commixtion Greek and Troyan so That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all, And this is Troyan; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister Bounds in my father's'; by Jove multipotent, Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member Wherein my sword had not impressure made Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone Exeunt all but the CLOWN CLOWN sings When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken heads, For the rain it raineth every day From off a hill whose concave womb reworded A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale, My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded, And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale, Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain, Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
|
|
Copyright © 2010