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Shakespeare quotes on sorrowBut if the while I think on thee (dear friend) All losses are restored, and sorrows end The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek Source: ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wiv'd, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow A heavier task could not have been impos'd Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; Yet, that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encount'red by a mighty rock, Which being violently borne upon, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father; But you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed; And I dare swear you borrow not that face Of seeming sorrow- it is Source: SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow Verily, I swear 'tis better to be lowly born And range with humble livers in content Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief And wear a golden sorrow Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye Why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it; We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em O my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there To seek out sorrow that dwells every where 'Farewell.' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; I do lament the sickness of the King, As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost A grandam's name is little less in love Than is the doating title of a mother; They are as children but one step below, Even of your metal, of your very blood; Of all one pain, save for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow Commend me to thy lady, And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto O noble father, you lament in vain; The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrows to a stone To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death Hark, Marcus, what she says- I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her; For I have heard my grandsire say full oft Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad for sorrow Tell him it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now; I have done penance for contemning Love, Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; Which I so lively acted with my tears That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead If I in thought felt not her very sorrow 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
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