If by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
What seest thou else in the dark backward and abysm of time?
Please you, farther.
He new created the creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, or else new formed 'em.
Well demanded, wench.
Not a soul but felt a fever of the mad and played some tricks of desperation.
'Tis past the mid-season. At least two glasses.
If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak and peg thee in his knotty entrails.
The fringèd curtain of thine eye advance, and say what thou seest yond.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple.
Fie, what a spendthrift he is of his tongue!
Th'occasion speaks to thee.
They'll take suggestion as the cat laps milk. They'll tell the clock to any business that we say befits the hour.
Here, kiss the book.
This my mean task would be as heavy to me as odious, but the mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, and makes my labours pleasures.
Will you troll the catch you taught me but whilere?
The elements of whom your swords are tempered may as well wound the loud winds, or with bemocked-at stabs kill the still-closing waters, as diminish one dowl that's in my plume.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors are melted into air, into thin air.
Now does my project gather to a head. My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time goes upright with his carriage.
'Tis a chronicle of day by day, not a relation for a breakfast.
I drink the air before me and return or ere your pulse twice beat.
O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world that has such people in't.
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