Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring? — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection! — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“How many things by season season'd are, To their right praise and true perfection!” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“The April's in her eyes: it is love's Spring, And these the showers to bring it on..” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long:… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being governed by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
In springtime, the only pretty ring time Birds sing, hey ding A-ding, a-ding Sweet lovers love the spring— — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
When thou cam'st first, Thou strok'st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries in't; and teach me… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th'… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound; And through… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep’st so sound. Julius Caesar (2.1.248-251)” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught? — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
