1). Twelfth Night

[DUKE ILLYRIA]

What 1)dost 2)thou know?

[VIOLA]

Too well what love women to men may owe.

In faith, they are as true of heart as we.

My father had a daughter loved a man

As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,

I should your lordship.

[DUKE ILLYRIA]

And what's her history?

[VIOLA]

A blank, my lord. She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i'th'bud,

Feed on her 3)damask cheek. She pined in thought;

And, with a green and yellow 4)melancholy,

She sat like Patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?

We men may say more, swear more; but indeed

Our shows are more than will; for still we prove

Much in our vows but little in our love.



2). Why, How Know You That I Am in Love?

[SPEED]

Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to 1)wreathe your arms like a 2)malcontent, to relish a love-song like a robin-red-breast, to walk alone like one that had the 3)pestilence, to sign like a schoolboy that had lost his A B C, to weep like a young 4)wench that had buried her grandam, to fast like one that takes diet, to watch like one that fears robbing, to speak 5)puling like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were 6)wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; When you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money. And now you are 7)metamorphosed with a mistress, that when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.



3). Love Song

How use 1)doth breed a habit in a man!

This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,

I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.

Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,

And to the 2)nightingale's complaining notes

Tune my distresses and record my woes.

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,

Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,

Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall

And leave no memory of what it was.



4). A Midsummer Night's Dream

[THESEUS]

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet

Are of imagination all compact.

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold:

That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

Such tricks hath strong imagination

That, if it would but apprehend some joy,

It comprehends some bringer of that joy,

Or in the night, imagining some fear,

How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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